Liquor, Lingerie, and Leather Bound Musings
by Nameless Boast
Summary: Being a teenager is difficult enough. Now throw in a mad scientist boyfriend, a sickeningly perfect brother, a neurotic trainwreck of a mom, and alien superpowers. Enjoy the completely true, totally unembellished misadventures of Son Goten. *Truten, Yaoi*
1. Entry 01

_Friday 25 September_

My name is Son Goten, and I suppose you're my new diary. Hi!

Wow, that was nerdy. Let's try this again.

My name is Son Goten, and this is my diary.

Still off. "Diary," that sounds so damn girly. Maybe journal would be better? Yes, "journal," that comes across as rather more dignified.

Third time's the charm. My name is Son Goten. Sit back and enjoy as I chronicle the strange and mysterious happenings of my ever-so-eventful life.

Perfect.

Perfect, just like my world-saving super genius of a brother. The one who got me this diary. Er, journal.

Okay, time for some backstory. Last week, I was over at Gohan's place for dinner, because Mom and Dad were fighting. AGAIN. And by fighting, I mean my mom was yelling at my dad while my dad just sat there and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, smiling and looking for all the world like a child who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. (Hell, for all I know, maybe my mom _literally _caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Sometimes I think he's more of a child than my brother's toddler).

I have no clue what triggered it, and frankly, I didn't want to stick around to find out. It was getting pretty heated—my mom was bringing up stuff that had happened DECADES ago, when my brother was still a little kid. I didn't catch the details, but I think it involved my dad getting Gohan a pet dinosaur, and my brother—being the big crybaby he was at the time—freaked the fuck out, which freaked out the dinosaur, which somehow resulted in half the house being destroyed.

I can't really be sure what she was saying. I sort of tune her out automatically when it gets like this. Some might call me rude. I say it's a perfectly reasonable defense mechanism, brought on by a childhood's worth of bleeding eardrums.

Years of experience have taught me that, when my mom gets like this, the argument is going to end in one of two ways. Either she's going to yell until she's blue in the face and hit my dad (and, if she's in a foul enough mood, _me_) on the head with that damn frying pan of hers, or she's going to yell until she's blue in the face and my dad calms her down with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. I honestly don't know which one is worse. I mean, yeah, the frying pan hurts, but if my dad manages to calm her down it quickly dissolves into a _disgustingly_ adorable snuggle fest.

At least I have it better than Trunks. If my training-partner-slash-best-friend-slash-boyfriend had a zeni for every time he's walked in on Bulma and Vegeta getting it on, his trust fund would have doubled by now. Don't get me wrong—Trunks isn't easily shocked, but these are his _parents._ Kami knows what I would do if I ever walked in on _my_ parents. Especially if they were using whips. And chains. And lingerie. And looooads of whipped cream.

I'd...rather not say which one of them was wearing the negligee.

When Trunks told me that story, I thought he was exaggerating. He produced photographic evidence. I just asked why the fuck he would take _pictures_.

Trunks has issues.

I'm rambling. Back to last week. The point is, I knew I'd better get out of my house, and since Trunks was busy watching his baby sister, I ended up escaping to Gohan's place.

How he can stand living next door to our parents, I have no idea.

In any event, in between attempting to feed an uncooperative Pan and trying to get in a few bites of her own meal, Videl started asking me if I had given any thought to what I wanted to do with my life. And I had, and though I didn't really feel like talking about it, she kept pushing. My brother, Kami love him, tried to get her to back off, but let's be honest—the man is _whipped_.

So eventually I confessed that I was interested in journalism. Yes, journalism. I can't see myself becoming a professional martial artist (and to tell the truth, I'd feel bad about the unfair advantage I'd have, not being human and all), and I've never been particularly good at math or science. Which is weird in itself, when you think about it—between Gohan and Trunks, I've been surrounded by science geeks my entire life. I, on the other hand, have always been a bit more…_observant_ than rational. Being paid to write about the world around me? Sounds like a dream job.

So what does Gohan do? He gets this bright, enthusiastic look in his eyes, pops into his study, and comes out bearing a black leather-bound book with gold-and-silver stitching along the cover. And he hands it to me, suggesting that I start journaling. Says something about how observing and writing about the events of my _own _life might be good practice.

My brother can be so fucking gay sometimes. And _I'm_ the one who's actually sleeping with a guy.

In any event, I thought this was a stupid idea at first. But then I thought about it, and I realized that, one, my writing isn't anywhere _near_ as sophisticated as it could be, and two, I'm going to have to include a writing sample when I start applying to universities next year. After about thirty seconds of awkward silence, I thanked my brother and set the journal aside, mostly to keep it from being splattered with the sautéed noodles Pan had decided to use to decorate the dining room.

That girl is so lucky she's cute. Otherwise, she'd have been crucified long ago.

Then I asked Gohan where he got this froofy-looking journal. Apparently he just had it lying around.

Typical. I would have asked about the ivy and vines and golden flowers that were stitched all over the damn thing, but I was suddenly interrupted by a handful of pan-fried noodles. Pan must have some incredible aim for a three-year-old, because there is just no explaining how she managed to land them right in my eyes.

I excused myself to go rinse the stinging soy sauce from my eyes while Videl started yelling at her giggling daughter. Gohan, wisely, didn't say anything.

Anyway, after a few days of debating with myself (by which I mean ranting all stream-of-consciousness-like at Trunks), I decided to give this journaling thing a try. Who knows? I might just learn something about myself.

…okay, maybe I _am_ the gay one.

In any event, this promises to be quite the time-waster. Which wouldn't normally be a problem, except for the fact that I have a _massive_ art project due in six weeks. Yeah, a month and a half sounds like a long time, but my perpetually spaced-out lunatic of an art teacher gave us the world's most open-ended assignment. The prompt is, I shit you not: _"The places we come from, the places we're going."_ What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

My wonderful, understanding, sensitive boyfriend suggested I take this assignment quite literally. He thinks I should take a poster, draw myself coming out of the birth canal on one panel, and draw myself going down on him on the other. When I sputtered out a refusal, he _oh-so-selflessly_ offered to let me go down on him for real, make a video recording, and use that as a model in case I was having trouble with the sketches. Provided, of course, that he gets a copy of the video.

So I did what any calm, rational, loving boyfriend would do. I punched him in the face.

Trunks asked if he really deserved that. I responded that he _always_ deserves it.

I must be off now. I smell dinner, and it's calling my name. Or, more accurately, my mother is calling my name, and if I don't get down there in the next sixty seconds, all I'll be having for supper is a face full of cast-iron frying pan.

Dende above, the things I put up with.


	2. Entry 02

_Sunday 27 September_

My name is Son Goten, and I have no eyebrows.

This is not because I was born without eyebrows. Nor is it because I shaved them, waxed them, or did anything else to intentionally rid myself of them. No, this is a very recent development.

How, you may ask, was such a tragedy visited upon my face? (Well, okay, _you_ won't ask, being an inanimate object and all, but you get the point.) I won't keep you in suspense too long. In short, it is Trunks' fault.

Trunks Briefs. He's been my boyfriend for a little over a year, my best friend since before I can remember, and—to be honest—the bane of my existence even longer than that. He might be a nice guy way, _way_ down inside, but he gets me into some ridiculous situations. Whether it's sneaking into the adult competition at the World Martial Arts Tournament when I was seven, sneaking home a snake to keep as a pet when I was eight, sneaking into a candy factory when I was twelve (so we could discover all their delicious, delicious secrets and reproduce them at home), or sneaking into a strip club when I was fifteen, not a week goes by that he doesn't get me into some sort of trouble.

And, because I'm an _idiot_, I continue to listen to him.

Moving on to this week's installment of the Son-Briefs Hijinks Comedy Hour. See, Trunks is a very strange young man, for reasons that go beyond him being a super-strong half-alien like me. Because not only is he the heir to one of the world's greatest fortunes, and not only is he the prince of a dead warrior race. No, on top of all that, my boyfriend is a _mad scientist_. Goggles, deranged, evil cackle, the whole package.

Allow me to explain. Trunks comes from a scientific family. His mom and grandpa are two of the most well-known inventors on earth. I mean, people in this family design _space capsules_ for a living. Bulma made the dragon radar, which can pick up the exact location of the Dragonballs, when she was about sixteen. Capsule Corporation has cornered the market on aerospace tech _and_ consumer transportation. Their R&D department has more cash at their disposal than some small countries.

So, of course, Bulma was thrilled to find out that Trunks is also interested in science, specifically robotics. Most mothers would encourage their kids to, I dunno, take an advanced science course, or get them some educational videos. But Bulma is _not_ most mothers. So what does she do?

SHE BUILDS HIM A LABORATORY. I shit you not, she sectioned off an unfinished part of their absurdly large basement, and actually built him a state-of-the-art science cove. Complete with high-end professional computers, test tubes filled with volatile chemicals, a closet full of labcoats, and a stockpile of what I'm pretty sure are illegal explosives.

Anyway, eyebrows. Trunks gave me a call yesterday afternoon, seeing if I wanted to hang out. I'd been agonizing over that damn art project for the past two hours, scribbling down ideas only to crumple up the sheet of paper and toss them in the trash. I'd been getting a little stir-crazy, so I was more than happy to get out of the house.

I figured we'd just hang out, watch some movies, maybe get in some sparring. You know, the kind of stuff _normal_ half-human teenage boys do on the weekend. But, no, that was far too much to hope for. When I got to Trunks' house and rang the doorbell, Bulma answered the door.

"Oh, hi there, Goten!" she greeted me with a smile. She didn't even wait for me to ask where her son was as she led me inside. "Trunks is downstairs."

_Oh, shit_, I thought. The only reason Trunks would be in the basement is if he's getting up to something in his lab, meaning that I would end up being his pet labrat-slash-assistant for the better part of the afternoon. Of course, I was right. The door to his lab was closed but unlocked, and I could hear the whirr of equipment before I even got the door open.

There are few sights more terrifying than a seventeen-year-old guy wielding a giant-ass drill and bearing an absolutely maniacal smile. Considering that I've fought galaxy-destroying, demonic alien monsters, that's saying something.

"TRUNKS!" I shouted over the grinding of his high powered drill. He shut off the machine. He turned away from his current project—which looked like a combination between a super-sized coffee maker, a rocket launcher, and a giant vibrator—and lifted up his goggles to look at me.

"Goten!" His impossibly wide grin got impossibly wider. He set down the drill and beckoned me over. I sighed, resigning myself to what was bound to turn into another afternoon of rewiring and running tests. I put on a spare pair of goggles, just barely managing to get the elastic strap stretched over my massively spiked hair, and walked over to his table.

"What the hell are you working on?" I asked

"Combination video game system and espresso machine." So at least I was right about the coffee maker.

I rolled my eyes and followed his instructions as he had me holding parts, moving wires, and drilling pieces of metal and plastic into place. He must have been working on his contraption the whole morning, because it was only half an hour before he said it was time to plug it in and test it out.

He slid a video game disc into the slot in the front. He loaded up some coffee grounds—yes, he had them sitting on his lab table right next to the hydrochloric acid, and that _has_ to be a health hazard—before moving to the back to turn it on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that one of the metal panels was still open. I've been a part of Trunks' bizarre experiments long enough to know when something doesn't seem quite right, so I leaned in close to get a better look.

"Hey, Trunks?" I asked, my face all of two inches from the open panel. "Are these wires supposed to be crossed like that?"

"What wires?" He finished flipping the switch as the words left his mouth.

Long story short, when the smoke cleared, we were both covered in soot and charred coffee grounds, the robot had disintegrated into about a million pieces, and my eyebrows were gone.

And Trunks, that unbelievable son of a bitch, laughed. He laughed for several minutes. He laughed until tears started streaming down his face.

And then he laughed so hard he choked.

Serves him right.


	3. Entry 03

_Monday 28 September_

My name is Son Goten, and this is what I would consider a typical day:

**6:00 AM:** Alarm goes off. Hit snooze button, slip back into bed.

**6:09:** Hit snooze button again. Once more slide back under the covers.

**6:18:** Hit snooze button a third time. Bury my head under my pillow to block out the sunlight.

**6:20:** Am rudely awakened by my mother. By which I mean she yanks the pillow off my head, douses me with ice cold water and tells me to get my lazy butt out of bed. Swear colorfully under my breath and wonder why she can't ever use warmer water.

**6:22:** Drag my shivering body to the bathroom and take a quick shower. Since I didn't get up early enough to let the water heater warm up the shower, I continue to freeze my ass off for a good five minutes. On the plus side, I am fully awake after the shower.

**6:28:** Towel off. Catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. Something is wrong with my face, though I can't quite put my finger on it. Wonder what the hell it is that looks so different about me.

**6:29:** Remember. Eyebrows. Right. I have no eyebrows, thanks to one Trunks Briefs, mad scientist at large, menace to society.

Wonder how it is that my eyebrows all but disintegrated, but the rest of my hair is undamaged. Chalk it up to one of those mysteries of science.

Hear Trunks' voice in my head telling me that we should reproduce the accident to see if it happens again. You know, for the sake of "scientific rigor."

**6:30:** Get mad at Trunks all over again. Vow bloody, bloody revenge, knowing full well that I will never carry through with my plans. Nevertheless enjoy fantasies of impaling him.

**6:31:** The bad kind of impaling. The violent kind. Not the good, sexy kind.

**6:32:** Think about the good kind of impaling. Smile a bit, then remember again that I'm angry with him. Fantasies switch from sexy to violent once more.

Sadly, the sexy fantasies are more fun.

**6:33:** Get dressed. Smell eggs and sausages cooking in the kitchen. The scent of breakfast wafting into my bedroom reminds me how hungry I am—just like every morning—so I quickly slip on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and run into the kitchen.

Besides, if I don't get there soon, my dad will have devoured everything on the table. Not that I'm so much better.

**6:40:** Sit down for breakfast. Pile my plate high with sausage, eggs and potatoes. Munch happily as my dad stares at me in between shoveling breakfast into his mouth.

Dad raises an eyebrow. "Something about you," he says around a mouthful of egg, "looks different."

This of course gets my mother's attention. She looks at me and immediately starts screaming at me for shaving off my eyebrows like "some sort of punker." She then proceeds to start tearing up and crying how her "sweet little boy" is probably going to get a tattoo and several piercings and join a motorcycle gang. (No, I am not exaggerating. Yes, this kind of breakdown happens often.)

When I try to explain that the eyebrows were Trunks' fault, she starts ranting about how "that delinquent" is a bad influence on me.

It wouldn't be so bad if she _consistently_ disliked Trunks. At least then I'd know what to expect. The thing is, ninety percent of the time, my mom is actually quite fond of him. But when that other ten percent rears its ugly head, I can't get a moment's peace.

**6:55:** Finish breakfast. Go to gather my books and grab my backpack before leaving for school.

**8:02: **Arrive at West City High. It would only take me about ten minutes to get there if I flew myself, but the last thing I need is for people to see me land on the rooftop and think I'm some sort of super-powered alien freak. Which, you know, I am. So I usually end up taking a Capsule Corp plane to school.

Run inside for first period. Get yelled at by my math teacher for being late. Really, he should be used to it by now.

Remainder of math class is uneventful. Same goes for literature and history.

**11:00:** Art class. As soon as I'm through the door, my art teacher, Ms. Shi, walks—or, rather, slides, since she never simply _walks_ anywhere—up to me and cups my face in one hand. Her fingernails dig uncomfortably into my cheeks as she studies my face.

"Uh," I say, "is something wrong?"

"Oh no," she says, in that ethereal sing-song voice she _always_ uses. "I felt a great creative energy about you today."

"Thanks?"

At this point she leans into study me more closely, so I'm almost suffocated by the scent of the sickly-sweet cinnamon-and-vanilla perfume she apparently bathed in this morning.

"You rid yourself of your eyebrows."

"Yeah..." I trail off, feeling more and more awkward. Corporal punishment is one thing, but this kind of touching can't _possibly _be appropriate.

"Even the face," she continues, "can be a canvas. You are wise for such a young one."

**11:02:** Sit down at my easel. Spend the rest of class messing around with watercolors and trying to get the smell of her perfume out of my nostrils.

**11:55: **Get out of art class. Start walking toward the courtyard to meet up with Trunks for lunch, as usual.

**11:57:** Stop in my tracks as I remember that I am mad at Trunks for horribly disfiguring me. Decide to go to the cafeteria instead.

**12:00 PM:** Find an empty table to sit down at. Pull my lunch bag out of my backpack and prepare to dive into my sandwich with relish.

Er, relish meaning enthusiasm. Not finely chopped pickle spread. I don't like pickles.

**12:01:** Heh heh, pickle.

**12:01:25: **Realize how immature a joke that was. Guess I'm still a ten-year-old boy inside.

**12:01:50:** Heh heh, inside.

**12:02:** Am joined at my lunch table by Ava. Ava is a girl in my chem class, who, while nice enough, has spent the last ten months or so trying to get me to go out with her. I've rejected her _dozens _of times by this point, but I think that's just made her more determined. I scoot down the bench to increase the space between us. She shuffles down the bench, smiling at me.

I continue to scoot. She continues to shuffle.

**12:02:22:** Fall off the bench onto the cold tile floor.

**12:02:24:** Stand up, brushing the dirt off my now sore bum. The following exchange takes place:

Ava: Hey there, Goten. (Blinks flirtatiously at me)

Me: Uh, hi, Ava. (Begin to back away)

Ava: (Stands up and moves toward me) How was your weekend?

Me: (Walk backwards until I hit the concrete wall. Have gained quite the audience by this point) Uh, fine, you know.

Ava: (Gets right up in my face) Did you get a haircut? Something looks different about you.

Me: I...lost my eyebrows?

Ava: (Pressing herself against me along the wall) I _love_ the new look.

Me: Uh, it was kind of an accident.

Ava: What can I say? You _always_ look good.

Me: (Chuckle uncomfortably as I look around frantically for a way out) Thank you?

Ava: So, anyway, are you busy this Saturday? I have two tickets to the Serpents and Scorpions concert.**

**You should know that S&S concerts are notorious, not so much for the music itself as the bizarre, unholy sexcapades that always seem to take place in the audience. And backstage. And, really, anywhere in the listening area. Which, considering how infamously loud the speaker systems at their concerts tend to be, is very wide.

Me: (Nervous) Ava, you know that I'm _gay_, right?

Ava: We can work around that.

Me: (At this point, seriously considering punching through the wall to escape, even if it blows my cover) And I'm dating _Trunks_?

Ava: (Running her fingers along the waist of my pants) I won't tell him if _you_ don't.

**12:04:** Screw delicacy. Shove her away, grab my backpack and my lunch, and decide I'm not _that_ angry with Trunks.

**12:07:** Step outside into the school's courtyard. See dozens of pigeons lying unconscious on the grass, which is covered in birdseed.

**12:07:30:** See Trunks, sitting alone on one of those cheap pressed-plastic benches and looking smug. More smug than usual, that is.

**12:07:32: **Ask Trunks what the hell he did to those poor birds.

Trunks responds: "What the hell makes you think this is my fault?"

**12:08:** Stare at Trunks incredulously. Don't buy the innocent expression on his face for one second.

**12:09:** Continue to stare at Trunks incredulously.

**12:10: **Clear my throat, letting Trunks know that I'm still waiting for an explanation.

**12:10:15:** Trunks sighs and shrugs. "Okay," he confesses, looking guilty, "I was messing around with some sleep aids in the lab and came up with something pretty powerful. So I laced birdseed with it."

My arms drop to my side as I gawk at him. I am quite surprised to find that I am still capable of being amazed by the crap he pulls.

"_Why_ would you do that?" I ask after gaping like a landed fish for a minute.

He shrugs. "Why do I do half the shit I do?"

**12:12:** After a bit of internal debate, decide that he makes a good point. Sit down next to him on the bench. Trunks asks why I smell like a cinnamon bun. I pointedly ignore him and start eating my lunch.

**12:13:** Finish my lunch.

**12:14:** Pull out the super-dense, extremely filling energy bar that Bulma manufactured specifically for the purpose of helping half-Saiyan types like me and Trunks get through the day without having to lug a trailer's worth of food to school. She just came up with a new flavor—chocolate and almond-butter—so I'm pretty excited about trying it out.

**12:22:** Decide I am in love with Bulma Briefs. Let us nevermind that she is my boyfriend's mother. Let us also disregard the fact that I am, you know, not into women. She is a goddess, a gift to the culinary arts and the planet, of which the earth is _not worthy._ And I love her.

Tell Trunks this.

**12:23:** Am satisfied with the look of horror on my boyfriend's face.

**12:24:** Satisfaction interrupted by an unconscious pigeon falling, beak-first, onto my head and lodging itself in my hair.

**12:24:10:** Begin shrieking at Trunks to dig the sleeping bird out of my hair.

**12:24:30:** Keep shrieking, and threaten to break up with Trunks on the spot if he does not put down that damn camera and _help me!_

**12:26:** Trunks pulls the bird out of my hair and tosses it unceremoniously onto the grass, near some of its sleeping compatriots. Am unsurprised when Trunks does not so much as apologize.

You'd think someone with so massive a vocabulary would know the words "I'm sorry" by now.

**12:27: **Go to the bathroom to wash up and calm down. Remind myself that one, homicide is wrong, and two, Bulma Briefs, aqua-haired goddess and bringer of delicious snacks, will be quite miffed if I kill her son.

**12:32:** Walk into chemistry, late of course. Teacher does not believe me when I explain that I was accosted by an unconscious pigeon.

Because I am late, I end up paired with Ava as a lab partner. Typical.

**1:25:** Run out of chem as soon as the bell rings. Go to gym class, where I spend the better part of the period pretending that the 5k run is tiring me out. Pray that no one notices I haven't broken a sweat.

At least it's better than baseball. If one more bat shatters in my palms, I'm pretty sure _someone_ is going to start to suspect something.

**2:25:** Leave school. Start flying home, determined to get my homework done early for once.

**3:30:** Arrive home. Pull out textbooks to start my math homework.

**3:40:** Set down my pen, feeling that I have earned a break. Track down my dad to see if he wants to go outside and train, since I can't very well waste a nice day like this indoors.

Like I even need to ask.

**6:00:** Get yelled at by Mom for, one, abandoning my studies to go train, and two, getting sweat and grime all over her recently-cleaned couch. Wisely refrain from mentioning that _she's_ the one who got me into martial arts in the first place, so really, it's her own damn fault.

Suffer through her screeching until Dad interjects. "Chichi," he says, placing a hand on her shoulder and cutting her off, "_I'm_ the one who pulled him away from schoolwork, okay? I wanted him to be able to get some training in before it got dark out, and I thought he'd have enough time to get his homework done after dinner."

Am completely stunned. Not because of the fact that he covered for me—hell, he does that all the time—but because of how convincing he sounds. The guy can't lie to save his life. I quickly come to the conclusion that he actually must have been planning on dragging me outside to train, even _before_ I approached him.

It's nice that we're on the same wavelength.

Shoot Dad an unbelievably grateful smile as my mom's wrath is turned on him, while I escape to take a shower before dinner.

Pretend not to overhear her mutter about how _Gohan_ never gave her this much trouble when _he_ was a teenager.

**7:30: **Am happily full from dinner. Crack open the books again, sure that I will be able to tackle it now that I have gotten exercise, a shower, and sustenance.

**7:32: **...What the fuck is an antiderivative?

**7:35:** It's official. There is no rhyme or reason to this nonsense. Mathematicians are clearly just making this shit up.

**7:40:** Call Trunks. Endure his mocking my ignorance for a few minutes. Have to remind him that he owes me for the pigeon incident earlier before he actually decides to be helpful and _explain_ antiderivatives to me.

Am reaffirmed in my belief that, yes, mathematicians are full of it. This sounds like the incoherent crap I started babbling when I was twelve and took too much cold medicine.

Hmm. There's an idea.

**7:45:** Decide the risk does not justify the potential reward. Put bottle of cough syrup back into the medicine cabinet.

That stuff tastes like a bizarre combination of gasoline and rancid cherries anyway.

**7:50: **Stare at math homework, willing it to finish itself. Am surprised when it does not comply. End up writing down some half-assed scribbles before moving onto other, less illogical subjects.

**10:30:** Start writing out this journal entry, after which I am going to pass out and get ready to do it all over again tomorrow.

Yes, that is a _typical_ day. It has actually gotten to the point where I spend the rare _quiet_ day perpetually anxious, plagued by a sense of impending doom.

And that, more than anything else, is how I know my life is pretty fucked up.


	4. Entry 04

_Wednesday 30 September_

My name is Son Goten, and I am wearing makeup.

...Great Kami, the things I never thought I'd have occasion to write.

Let's backtrack to earlier in the day. I got out of art class, where my loony "teacher" had us spend half the class meditating to "draw out our creative spirits," and started heading to the courtyard to meet Trunks for lunch. Most kids prefer to eat in the cafeteria, but Trunks and I both feel like we spend enough of the day indoors as it is. Half the time we have the small yard practically to ourselves. I stepped outside, and sitting with Trunks at one of the run-down picnic tables was, unfortunately, his friend Addo. Don't get me wrong; Addo's in Trunks' class, and he's a pretty decent guy, but he's a bit...odd.

See, the best way I can think of to describe Addo is...gay. Very, very gay. And I don't mean the way I'm gay, just having-sex-with-other-guys gay. I mean fishnet-shirt, pink-nail-polish, glitter-and-lisping-and-techno-pop gay. Which is fine, except he thinks _I'm_ the weird one for _not_ being like that. (Of course, Trunks gets a pass because _he's_ bisexual.) Apparently enjoying martial arts and refusing to buy purple vinyl clothing makes me some "hetero-wannabe assimilationist sellout." Yes, that is a direct quote.

Whatever. _I'm_ the one with a boyfriend.

So, Addo, while generally a pleasant guy, tends to irk me sometimes. But Trunks, despite his popularity, doesn't have many friends. People that know the _real_ Trunks. And I'm not even talking about him being half-Saiyan. I'm talking about him being a bird-drugging, eyebrow-destroying mad genius. Most everyone at school just knows him as this bright, good-looking, well-liked rich kid. There are _very_ few people who know how weird he really is.

Addo is, for reasons I will _never_ understand, one of those select few. Maybe it's because he's one of the only people at this school that even approaches Trunks' level of strangeness. So I actually do make an effort to get along with him.

Naturally, the first thing he says when he sees me isn't "hello," or "what's up," or any of a host of other standard greetings. No, my boyfriend's wonderfully tactful buddy decides to open the conversation with, "What the hell happened to your face?"

I rolled my eyes and sat down on the splintered wooden bench next to Trunks, right across from Addo. I jutted one thumb to my right, pointing at Trunks. "_He_ happened."

I didn't have to explain. Addo got it right away. "Lab accident?"

"Yep." Trunks just gave us both that fake-innocent look and took a sip from his water bottle.

"Yanno," Addo said around a bite of his lunch, "I can help with that."

"With my eyebrows?"

"Uh huh!" He got this fantastically excited expression and started digging through this backpack.

This is where I should have gotten up from the table and made my exit. I really, REALLY should have known that the look in Addo's hazel, glitter-smeared eyes and the smile on his (I wish I were joking) purple-painted lips could bring _nothing_ good.

Anyway, at this point Addo whipped out what looked like a small black pencil. I stared at it for a while before I figured out what, precisely, it was.

"Is that eyeliner?"

"Uh huh!" Addo repeated in that squeaky tone he gets whenever he's keyed up about something. "I can fill in your eyebrows! I'm _really_ good with makeup." Yeah, I could _see_ that.

I turned to Trunks, shooting him a pleading glance, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to help. He just nodded in approval.

I really need to be less of a fucking pushover.

Addo grabbed his backpack and moved over to my side of the table. "Now, which color do you want?"

I sighed. "Black?"

"Well, no _shit_, Goten." He pulled out a ziploc bag _filled_ with eyeliner pencils that, honestly, all looked the same to me. "I have brown black, blackest black, blue black, charcoal mist, onyx night—"

"Addo," I cut him off, peering into his backpack, "where do you have room for your books?"

He looked at me quizzically. "Books?"

"Nevermind. Look, just _pick_ a color, okay?"

He grabbed one of the pencils. "Shiseido Number Seven, 'Midnight Pitch'." As if those words meant _anything_ to me.

Addo reached over and pulled back my bangs, his fingers brushing along the raised patch skin near my hairline. It hadn't occurred to me that he might never have seen the scar on my forehead before. He asked where I got it, and I explained to him that I'd fallen headfirst onto a rock when I was a kid.

Trunks, the smartass, said, "Explains a lot, doesn't it?" I ignored him as Addo started sweeping eyeliner onto my browbone.

I have to admit, when he showed me how I looked in his mirror (what kind of teenage boy carries a powder compact around with him?), it didn't look bad. So yeah, I figured, maybe this wasn't such a big deal.

_Lies_. All lies. It was a horrible, horrible ploy to earn my trust. He told me to close my eyes because he wanted to touch something up and didn't want to get any makeup in my eyes, and I listened. Next think I knew, something was brushing along my forehead. Then I felt a light pressure against one eyelid, followed by the other.

The psychotic, fruity fairy not only covered my scar with concealer, but apparently decided I'd look good in eyeliner. And my ever-so-helpful boyfriend didn't do a damn thing to stop it. The twisted pervert actually seemed to _like_ the way it looked. I, being the _normal_ one, did not see the appeal of looking like a cheap teenaged hooker.

When I demanded that Addo _take it off_, he just insisted he didn't have any eye makeup remover with him. I glowered at him, pushing him away with one hand and digging through his backpack with the other. Addo tried pushing against me, but even keeping my power at its absolute minimum, he was no match for me. I mean, the guy is at least two inches shorter than me and built like a stick. After a couple of minutes, I found that he was telling the truth—he really _didn't_ carry any makeup remover with him.

At least I can take consolation in Addo's look of horror as I dumped the contents of his backpack into the dumpster.

By the time all of this had transpired, chem was about to start. I dashed to class, praying that no one would notice what Addo had done to me. We were finishing up the lab from yesterday—am I the only one that thinks giving sixteen-year-olds access to sulfuric acid is a bad idea?—so I was, once again, paired up with Ava. She was, surprisingly, on her best behavior, focusing entirely on the lab. I actually dared to hope that I might get through a full fifty-five minutes without any Ava-related incidents when she started staring at me.

"Goten?" she asked while studying my face closely. "Are you wearing..._makeup?_" Yes, the dumb bitch said this _at full volume_, so _everyone_ in the class could hear it.

"Uh..." I said ever-so-eloquently, turning _bright_ red as my classmates all turned to stare at us. "Just..." I mumbled, "just on my eyebrows..."

"No, you're wearing eyeliner!" She leaned in, squinting at the drawn-in lines on my browbone and eyelids. "Shiseido's Midnight Pitch. I have that shade!"

How the _hell_ did she recognize it!?

Of course, half the class was snickering by this point and our chem teacher had to slam her ruler against her desk to get everyone to calm down. Not that I could blame them—I mean, I was wearing _women's eyeliner_. Ugh.

I seriously considered taking the vial of acid in Ava's hand and using it to dissolve her face. Or my own. Couldn't decide.

I grumbled my way through lab cleanup, ignoring any comments from my classmates. When the bell rang, I ran for the door and made a beeline for the bathroom. I stood at the sink, scrubbing my face with warm water. And, of course, it wouldn't come off.

Addo, that stupid queer son of a bitch, _used waterproof eyeliner_. Why the fuck does he even have waterproof makeup? Does he get dolled up before going swimming?

Wait, this is Addo I'm talking about. He probably does.

Flash forward to this evening. I'm crashing at Trunks' tonight, as I do fairly often, because even though I'm still annoyed with him, the commute from his place is way shorter. In any event, I basically have my own bedroom at this point, and god knows I get way more privacy here than I do at home. It's technically a guest room, but over the last couple of years, half my things have migrated over from my house. Most everyone at the compound _refers_ to the guest room next to Trunks' bedroom as my room.

Trunks drove us back to Capsule Corp after school, snickering the whole way through. I just folded my arms and pouted.

"You really _do_ look good," the spoiled pervert insisted.

I glowered at him. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"You just did." _Smartass._

Anyway, I tried washing the stuff off my face again. Didn't work. I went to my room to room to do some homework, grabbed some food, then tried once more. Still didn't work. What the fuck was that eyeliner _made_ out of? Finally, I was getting desperate, so I did something that was both totally sensible and completely irrational.

I creeped into Bulma's bathroom and started digging through her makeup drawer.

The plan was to find a bottle of eye makeup remover, get this shit off my face, and get out before anyone saw me. But of _course_ Bra picked that moment to wander into the same bathroom, probably to play dress-up with her mommy's lipstick again. We both froze in place when we saw each other.

"Bra," I begged, trying to shush the four-year-old as I accidentally knocked bottles of foundation and tubes of mascara onto the floor. "Please just—"

"Mommy!" the girl shrieked, cutting me off and running out of the room. "Goten's being _weird!_" I wish I could disagree. Within seconds, in came Bulma.

She stared at me, looked down at the large pile of cosmetics that had fallen to my feet, then looked back up at me.

"Goten?"

"Ah," I said, frantically trying to figure out a way to salvage the situation. "Hi, Bulma."

"I'm...going to assume there's a perfectly logical explanation for why you're going through my makeup drawer."

"Oh," I said, actually _feeling_ my face turn bright red, "I'm sure there is."

Upon reflection, I probably should have just asked for the damn makeup remover. It's not like the situation could have gotten much more mortifying. But, no, I was too embarrassed, so I ran out of there with my tail between my legs.

Metaphorically, anyway. I haven't had a tail since I was two.

I ran into Trunks on the way back to my room. He said I should wear makeup more often. I told him I'm enforcing a sex-embargo until my eyebrows grow back.


	5. Entry 05

_Thursday 1 October_

My name is Son Goten, and the universe is officially out to get me.

Okay, rewind to this morning. I should have known that it was going to be a weird day when I woke up. See, even though I'm _fairly_ certain I went to sleep alone last night (I can really never be sure when I crash at Capsule Corp), I woke up to feel something warm pressed up against my side. I opened one eye and looked to my right to find that Trunks had apparently made it from his room to mine over the course of the night, and decided to join me in bed wearing nothing but his boxers.

"Trunks?" I shook him by the shoulder to wake him up.

"Mrrfle" was his eloquent response as he stubbornly kept his eyes shut. It's the same damn story every time I spend the night there. I get up well before Trunks, and then get to enjoy the daily adventure that is waking him up. See, even though I tend to have trouble getting up at home, I don't even bother to set my alarm when I stay in West City. The long commute from Mount Paozu means that my body's trained to get up earlier, so I'm always awake by 6:30 at the latest. Trunks, on the other hand, is still a whiny baby that needs to be dragged out of bed every morning. I practically have to undress him myself and shove him into the shower before going to get ready myself. I don't even want to know how Bulma deals with him in the mornings.

"Trunks," I repeated, shaking him harder, "wake up." Trunks opened a single eye, sat up, gave me a one-eyed stare, then snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me back down onto the bed.

"Mrr," he grumbled in my ear. "Boyfriend."

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he couldn't see me. "Boyfriend who's imposing a sex ban."

"You never said anything about a snuggling ban." And he nuzzled into my shoulder, solidly refusing to get out of bed.

"Goddamnit, I'm getting _up_." I shoved his arm off my waist and started to climb out of bed, when I felt a tight grip around my wrist. I looked down to see my half-naked boyfriend holding on to me, bleary-eyed and looking very, very tired.

"Stay?" he asked quietly while his eyes slipped shut again. "Just five more minutes."

This is where Trunks drives me nuts. I swear, dating him is like having a sugared-up five-year-old, all noise and chaos and headaches until he tuckers himself out, then so cute and beguilingly innocent-looking when he falls asleep. One minute, he's being a spectacular pain in the ass, burning off my eyebrows and encouraging his insane friends to make me up like a teenage hustler. The next, he's snuggled up in my bed, looking—I can't believe I'm saying this—absolutely _adorable_, softly asking me to spend a few minutes with him before we have to drag ourselves back to the daily grind that is high school.

How could I resist?

I cursed under my breath as I got back under the covers. "If I'm late for calc again, I'm blaming you."

But damn, it's impossible to be stern when he slides his arm over my abdomen and curls up against my chest. Or when he lightly kisses the underside of my jaw and whispers, in a rare moment of total sincerity, "Thanks, Chibi." Or when he gives me that half-asleep little smile, the one where his eyelids flutter and the corners of his lips just barely turn up—

Gods, I'm hopeless.

Anyway, despite my worrying, we were on time for school. In fact, the whole day was completely uneventful. Calm. Peaceful. Boring, even. No Ava-instigated disasters, no makeup, no unconscious pigeons barreling into my scalp, and oh what marvelous dullness it was. Thank Dende for short teenage attention spans, because no one even gave me a hard time about the eyeliner incident yesterday. My mistake, however, was to let that calmness lull me into a false sense of security.

Trunks and I got back to Capsule Corp a little before three, and, as usual, went straight for the kitchen. As marvelous as Bulma's energy bars are, they can only stave off a Saiyan appetite for so long. Trunks grabbed the gallon of orange juice from the fridge and poured a couple of tall glasses, then busied himself with something in one of the other cabinets while I made us a few high-stacked sandwiches. I had just put the plates down on the counter next to the glasses when the telephone rang. It rang several times, but no one answered it. That wasn't surprising—Bulma was probably out, god knew _where_ Trunks' grandparents were, and it's general policy around Capsule Corp not to let Vegeta answer the telephone.

To be fair, I don't think Vegeta would have _actually_ broken into the telemarketer's home, ripped out his esophagus and force fed it to him through a straw, but the threat alone was enough to make the poor man nervous. I think the restraining order is still in effect.

After the fifth ring, Trunks grumbled to himself and went into the living room to pick up the phone. Trunks' little sister brushed past him as he left, skipping into the kitchen and toward the refrigerator. I watched Bra poke her head into the fridge and look around for about a minute. She pouted and closed the door, waited a few seconds, then opened it again to look around some more. Then she stopped, crossed her arms and started glaring at the fridge, as if scowling would make whatever her little appetite was demanding magically appear. There are few things stranger than watching a wide-eyed four-year-old _snarl_ at an icebox.

I guess she's been spending too much time around Vegeta.

"Hey Princess," I said, getting her attention. "What do you want?"

"Juice," she said simply, sounding irritated. "I can't find it!" She stomped one foot and placed her hands on her hips, obviously horribly offended that the appliance would dare refuse to provide her with her choice of beverage.

I laughed. That child has enough attitude for a dozen four-year-olds, and though I know I shouldn't encourage it, I can't help but get a kick out of it. "That's because it's still on the counter over here." I grabbed one of the glasses that Trunks had poured, handing it to her. "That what you wanted?"

Her frown instantly disappeared, and was replaced by a bright smile as she took the tall glass into her small hands. A few droplets of juice dribbled down her chin as she took a big gulp, and she thanked me before bounding off, glass in hand. I smiled after her while I grabbed another glass from the cabinet and poured it high with more juice.

That's when Trunks walked back into the kitchen. I asked him who called, and he said it was a salesperson trying to sell the Briefs homeowner's insurance.

"Did you make him cry?"

"Her. And no, I just got her to hang up by asking if they covered damage done by small nuclear explosions." I laughed, mainly because that's actually a legitimate concern at the Capsule Corp compound.

Trunks stepped over to the counter, taking the glass on the right and sipping his drink. He set down the glass and stared thoughtfully at it for a few moments before taking the other glass, sniffing it, taking a sip, and setting it down with that same perplexed expression.

"Something wrong?" I asked

"Yeah," he said, looking concerned. "What happened to my screwdriver?"

"Screwdriver?"

"I mixed some vodka into my juice. Did you pour it out?"

Yes, my best friend is a lush. "Trunks, it's three in the afternoon. Why are you drinking?"

"That's beside the point." He crossed his arms, looking at me accusingly. "What did you do with my drink?"

I rolled my eyes, wondering why he would assume I would want anything to do with it. "I didn't do anythi—"

And then it hit me. Bra.

"Oh. Oh, _shit._" I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. No, that's not quite right. It felt more like my stomach had grown legs, sliced its way out of my abdomen, and was running around on the kitchen floor, screaming in panic.

"Oh shit _what_, Chibi?"

Right on cue, in stomped Vegeta, with a very red-faced Bra giggling in his arms and wrapped around his neck. She scrambled up his neck, patting the top of his head and declaring, with a distinct slur, "Daddy hair! Pointy!" She hiccupped and slid back down into her father's arms, grinning like a wild woman. "Like a Christmas tree!"

Trunks and I looked at each other. All the color drained from his face as he realized what had happened to his drink, and I'm pretty sure I blanched as well.

Vegeta wrapped an arm tighter around his aqua-haired daughter as she continued to giggle and babble about her father, Prince of All Pine Trees. He glared daggers at us, looking away from me and locking eyes with Trunks.

"What," he asked, his voice sounding more dangerous than I've heard it in _years_, "did you idiots do?"

Trunks, the bastard, he jutted his thumb toward me and, sounding panicked, yelled, "Goten did it!"

"Hey!" I cried, shocked that my boyfriend had sold me out like that. Okay, maybe not shocked, but definitely annoyed. "I'm not the one who put vodka in the orange juice."

Vegeta's right eye twitched and a vein in his forehead began to throb before he responded, yelling at the top of his lungs, "YOU GAVE MY DAUGHTER VODKA!?!"

Have you ever seen Vegeta mad? Not just his usual state of irritation, but actually _angry_. Well, obviously, you haven't, because if you had you would have been reduced to a charred leather binding and a pile of ashes by now. I could try to think of a suitable metaphor for it—for instance, an already irritable bull that's been sleep-deprived, given a healthy dose of cocaine, and taunted with that red cape one too many times—but everything I can think of just doesn't do Vegeta's temper justice. The point is, it's not pleasant.

So, like the courageous and responsible almost-adults that we are, Trunks and I immediately took responsibility for the incident. By which I mean we gulped loudly, looked at each other, and barreled out of the kitchen before Vegeta could blink.

I know we should be more careful about letting people see us, but when a superpowered alien prince is out for your blood, other considerations just don't seem as important. We flew at full speed toward Mount Paozu, since even though Vegeta could easily track us back to my house, I figured we'd be relatively safe with my dad around. My old man has gotten quite fond of me over the years, and I'd like to think he'd be a bit miffed if one of his friends ended up killing me.

We didn't sense Vegeta coming after us, so we figured we'd be pretty safe as we landed near my house. Trunks landed next to me, and as soon as I caught my breath, I felt a sharp smack on the back of my head.

"Hey!" I yelled. "What the hell, Trunks!?"

"You got my baby sister _drunk_, that's what!" Trunks folded his arms and scowled at me, doing a pretty remarkable impression of my own mother. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Needless to say, I was pissed off at the accusation. "How the hell was I supposed to know that you were mixing up a drink? It's _barely_ three o'clock on a Thursday, you freakin' alcoholic!" I jabbed him in his chest with one finger, hard. "And you _wonder_ why I don't drink."

"Chibi," he said, at his most condescending, "drinking more than _you_ does not make someone an alcoholic."

I closed my eyes, taking a few deep breaths and forcing myself to be the mature one. "Look, this argument is stupid. Let's just go inside and do our homework or something while we wait for dinner."

Trunks looked at me for a few seconds before slapping his own forehead. "Shit. We forgot our backpacks at my house."

I shuddered. "You wanna risk it?"

"No physics problem set is worth losing one's limbs." And, well, when he put it _that_ way, it was hard to disagree. So I spent the rest of the afternoon doing the only schoolwork I could without my bookbag; namely, trying to think of a concept for my art project. I must have reread the prompt about fifty times—_"The places we come from, the places we're going,"_ whatever the fuck that means_—_while Trunks, in what he claimed was an attempt to be helpful, gave me the following suggestions:

"I still think you should draw yourself being born. Think of what you can do with oil pastels!" Because there's _nothing_ weird about drawing your own mother's birth canal. What would I even use as a reference?

"Hey, we've both been dead, right? Draw a picture of King Yemma's desk with the line of souls waiting to be judged!" I reminded him that most people wouldn't believe that the gatekeeper of souls is an enormous man with white horns and a purple suit, and that explaining that we've both been dead and have seen it for ourselves would just raise more questions than it would answer.

"Oh, you should totally say that you're going on a vacation to an island paradise, and draw nothing but hot girls in bikinis." He didn't seem to think that the fact that I'm gay was at all relevant to this fantasy.

I'd had just about enough when my mom called us in for dinner. We joined her and my dad at the table, and had only been eating for a few minutes when she started interrogating my boyfriend.

"Trunks," she said sternly, "you're going to be eighteen soon, aren't you?"

"Just over two weeks." He swallowed a large piece of chicken before speaking again. "Why?"

Then she dropped this bomb: "When are you two going to get engaged already?"

"What?" I almost choked on the bite of food in my mouth.

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't really given it much thought, Chichi."

"Trunks, I expect you to make an honest man out of my son if you're going to make me a grandmother!" Trunks crossed his eyes as my mom stood and shoved her serving spoon right up to the tip of his nose, but didn't say anything. Incorrigible smartass that he is, even Trunks usually knows better than to be flip with my mother.

"Okay," I said, trying to put an end to that particular line of questioning, "first, you already _are_ a grandmother."

My mom turned to me, nearly smacking me in the face with that damn serving spoon, flicking a few grains of rice onto my face. "I did not go through the pains of childbirth _twice_ just to end up with only _one_ grandchild!"

"Second," I said, picking the sticky grains from my forehead, "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Trunks and I are both _guys_."

"Don't give me that lip, Goten!" She wagged one finger at me. Gods, _how_ does she always manage to make me feel like I'm six again? "I know you're both boys! But I won't have you adopting me a bastard grandchild!"

Honestly, I wonder if it would have been less painful to just stay at Capsule Corp and let Vegeta beat the shit out of me for a while. It definitely would have been less mortifying.

"Chichi," my dad finally intervened, taking a break from stuffing his face with steamed rice and broiled meats, "he's _sixteen._"

"So?" my mom said, wielding her serving spoon as though it were a sword. "Gohan was dating Videl when he was sixteen!"

"Yeah," my dad shrugged, "but Goten isn't Gohan."

See, this is where you really have to know my dad. He wasn't trying to "sass" my mom, and he definitely wasn't going for condescending or sarcastic. As far as he was concerned, he was just innocently pointing out a fact. A fact that my mom seems a bit prone to forgetting.

And in that moment, I could _not_ have loved him more.

But, you know, that's my dad, always coming to the rescue. I'm starting to think the first seven years of my life would have been a _lot_ easier if he were around. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

I took advantage of the awkward silence that followed to excuse myself from the table. Trunks, being the _amazing_ boyfriend that he is, thought the whole exchange was _hilarious_. He said that he would be more than willing to try knocking me up. I just told him the sex embargo was still very much in effect.

Seriously. My mother is making wedding arrangements, my boyfriend is offering to impregnate my non-existent womb, the Prince of All Psychopaths is out for my blood for getting his precious baby girl drunk, and I _still_ have no eyebrows. How is this my life?


	6. Entry 06

_Friday 2 October_

All I have to say is: God. Damn. Thongs.

Alright, perhaps that deserves some explanation.

This morning, for reasons I cannot even begin to explain, I woke up at around 5 am and couldn't get back to sleep. (Maybe it was Vegeta-induced anxiety—I'm not entirely convinced he isn't going to hunt me down and kill me in my sleep.) Given a lack of other things to do, I started looking over my last five diary—scratch that, _journal_—entries this morning, and quickly came to the conclusion that this has been an especially strange week. Not so much because of any of the _individual_ events, but because of the sheer _number_ of bizarre things that had happened to me over the last six days. So I figured, well, at least my week can't get any weirder. Right?

I should really know better by now than to tempt fate.

Back to this morning. I got to school relatively early, and managed to hunt down Trunks before first period so I could get my backpack from him. He handed it to me, and I plopped down in a secluded corner of the hallway to scribble down some nonsense to turn in as my calc homework. I shoved the paper into my backpack, ran into the classroom as the door began to ring, and took my seat by my friend Nao.

Nao is probably one of the calmest, most collected, most genuinely nice people I know. Even his _look_ seems oddly relaxed; he's got calm grey eyes, dark blonde hair he keeps pulled back in a loose ponytail, and a fashion sense that consists almost entirely of jeans and dark green t-shirts. He's also got _horrible_ posture, which makes him look shorter and thinner than he actually is—he's actually got a very similar build to Trunks, slim and fairly muscular. Nao's on the very short list of people at my school that I actively _like,_ rather than simply put up with. That is why, in the two classes I share with him (math and history), I invariably set down next to him as I try to navigate the utter bullshit that is high school.

Nao cracked a joke about my being on time two days in a row—which really is probably a personal record—as Jiro, the teacher's assistant, came around the classroom to pick up our homework. I reached into my backpack to pull out my bullshitted homework, and paused as I came upon something that felt strangely like fine cloth. I paused, pulled it out, and froze in horror as I realized what it was.

The classroom was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Mr. Son," the TA finally said, breaking the heavy silence, "that does not appear to be your calculus assignment." Astute observation, seeing as it was in fact a very tiny, very lacy, very bright pink thong.

Naturally, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which was "IT ISN'T MINE!" Considering that this was very obviously women's underwear, and most everyone in my class is at least vaguely aware of the fact that I am both gay and taken, the looks on my fellow students faces weren't so much scandalized or amused as they were very, very confused.

That's when Mr. Mori, my unbelievable asshole of a calc teacher, spoke up from the front of the classroom. "What you and Mr. Briefs do in your spare time is none of my concern. Just give Jiro your homework so we can get on with class." That particular proclamation told me two things. First off, it says something about Trunks' notoriety around the school that even my _math teacher_ knows about our relationship. Second, my teacher is a complete sadist whose greatest pleasure in life seems to come from tormenting his students. Or at least me.

That's when Nao stepped in, and honestly, he deserves a fucking medal for this. He just cleared his throat and said in a deep, smooth voice, "That's actually mine. I must have accidentally put it in Goten's bag in the hallway this morning." He reached over to me, took the thong, and shoved it into his pocket. Five seconds later, the entire class—including the TA—burst into laughter, and Mr. Mori spent the next two minutes slamming his wooden ruler against the chalkboard and ordering us to settle down.

See what I mean? Nao's awesome.

I spent the rest of class vaguely paying attention to Mr. Mori's lecture on indefinite integrals and wondering how the hell a pink thong ended up in my backpack. I remembered that Trunks had my backpack all night, and decided to confront him about it during lunch. Not that I suspect infidelity or anything—the far likelier explanation was that he put it in my bag just to see my reaction.

Nao gave me back the thong after history, and I spent the better part of art class itching to get out and ask Trunks about what had to be his idea of a prank. Once the bell finally rang for lunch, I didn't find him in the courtyard, so I went back inside and started scouring the hallways. I found him sitting on the floor against one of the rows of lockers in the near-abandoned hall near the music room, along with his friends Kato and Dia.

Allow me to pause for a moment and describe these two individuals. Though she's closer to Trunks, Dia is actually in my grade. We have a couple of classes together—lit and gym, to be precise—and she is one of the most ridiculous people I have ever met. First of all, she's the heiress to the Aki Jerky dynasty. Yes, her family made its fortune on _mass produced cured meats_, so, just to be contrary, she's a vegetarian. She's a lot like Trunks, at least in that she always takes her bad ideas and just runs with them. One of her proudest accomplishments to date has been filling our principal's car with chocolate pudding, somehow without tripping the alarm. This, as it turns out, was only a _distraction_ for her actual plan—which involved filling his entire office with hamsters while he was busy trying to get the chocolate gunk off his leather seats. When he opened his door, what must have been five hundred little rodents (all male so they wouldn't reproduce, and all bought at a pet-store to ensure that they were rabies-free) dashed out and made their way through the school hallways. It took the better part of three weeks to find the last of them.

To be fair, she did (anonymously) have the interior of his car professionally cleaned, and threw in a tune-up for good measure. She still sneaks into his office to leave individual pudding cups on his desk, just to make him nervous.

All that mischief comes in a tiny package_._ I mean, Dia's _diminutive_. She doesn't even hit my shoulders, and she's skinny enough that she can easily fit into our incredibly narrow lockers. She's also completely adorable. She has huge black eyes, high cheekbones, defined facial features, a row of piercings in both ears, and very long, wavy hair that's always tied up in a ponytail. Her hair also changes color every other week; today it was black with bright blonde streaks running through it. I don't think anyone actually knows what her natural hair color is.

Well, anyone but Kato, anyway.

Kato, Dia's boyfriend and another of Trunks' best friends, is in Trunks' class and is the beneficiary of the vast wealth brought on by his family ownership of a major pharmaceutical company. Where Dia is tiny and cute, Kato has more of what you'd call "classic" good looks. I don't go for straight men, but even I can appreciate the aesthetics. You know the type—tall, muscular, short black hair, wide-set blue eyes, square jaw. He's definitely calmer and more mellow than either Dia or Trunks, but he's also fond of going along with their exercises in lunacy. He's also more of a facilitator than anything; for instance, when Dia said that she wanted 40 gallons of pudding he somehow managed to come up with a rolling tank of over-processed chocolate before the end of lunch.

Unlike Addo, whom I really put up with for Trunks' sake, I actually do like Kato and Dia. That being said, they are both completely out of their minds. Together with Trunks, the three of them form an unholy trinity of psychotic, prank-pulling spoiled brats. Between Dia's creativity, Trunks' scientific know-how, and Kato's talent at just getting things done, it's kind of amazing that West City High is still standing.

Enough backstory. I stalked up to the three of them, standing above where they were seated on the dusty tile floor. "What," I said, pulling the thong out of my backpack and showing it to Trunks, "is this?"

"Oh, shit," Trunks said, rubbing his forehead. "I put that in _your_ backpack? I could have sworn I stuck it in mine."

Naturally, I was confused. "You didn't do it on purpose?"

"Why would I give you Dia's panties?"

I turned to Dia, holding out the offending lingerie. "Why the fuck did my boyfriend have your panties?"

"I accidentally left them at Capsule Corp last week," she said as she took them from me.

"That...raises more questions than it answers."

Dia shrugged. "I told them I could take off my underwear without taking off my jeans. They didn't believe me. So I showed them."

I blinked and stared before setting down my bag and joining them with my lunch. I mean, what the hell was I supposed to say to that?

"You know," Dia said, pulling on the waistband of her thong and stretching it out, "the elastic on these is really tense."

"So?" Kato said, raising an eyebrow at his girlfriend. Like I said, he's the (relatively) normal one.

"So!?" Dia said, getting a strange glint in her eyes and leaping up suddenly as if a fire were lit under her ass. She pulled the elastic again with one finger, holding the underwear out in front of her like a slingshot. "Projectile weapon!" And she let it fly, landing her thong on top of Kato's head.

Ever seen a big, muscular guy wearing a lacy pink pair of panties as a hat? It's quite a sight.

Anyway, Kato could have just taken the thong off his head and put it away, and that would have been the end of that. But, no, he had to hesitate, giving Trunks the opportunity to grab the panties, raise them triumphantly over his head, and cry out, "UNDERWEAR COMBAT!" Thus began the Battle of the Pink Thong, which consisted of the three lunatics running around the hallway and flinging the thong at one another. I pressed myself against the wall and watched in horror as they ran around the abandoned hallway, panties a-flying.

It takes a lot to make me lose my appetite.

They calmed down after a few minutes, and I cleared my throat, pronouncing that they were all completely nuts. I should have kept my mouth shut, as the next thing I knew, they were all standing above me and giving me identical smiles. That grin is worrisome enough on one face. On three faces, it's _terrifying._

I braced myself for what was to come.

Long story short, I spent most of the remainder of lunch being chased down the hallway by Trunks with Dia's lacy pink thong, while Dia snapped photos on her mobile phone. Save for the occasional confused band geek, we had the halls mostly to ourselves, so no one was around to see when Trunks got me in a headlock and decided that the damn panties would make a good hair accessory. I twisted out of his grip and shoved him backwards, then backed up myself as I tried to tug the underwear off my head.

Then I came upon the stairwell.

I should explain that, after more than two years of high school, I've conditioned myself against flying in public. So when I tripped over my own legs, panties wrapped around part of my massively spiked hair, I didn't stop myself midair like I so easily could have. I just slid down about twenty concrete steps, landing with a thud on every one of them. It's a good thing being half-Saiyan makes me so resilient, because otherwise I probably would have broken my neck.

I landed on the floor beside a pair of red high heels. And, because this is the way my life works, I looked up to find that those heels belonged to—you guessed it—Ava.

She reached down and helped me up, staring at my head all the while. "Is that a pair of panties on your head?"

I pulled them off as I stood, dropping them to the floor. "It's a thong. And it's not mine, it's Dia's."

A look of utter delight crossed her face. "You took a _girl's_ underwear?" I shuddered, realizing the thought process behind her glee. See, any _normal_ girl would slap me, call me a pervert, and be done with it. But clearly, Ava figured, if I was jacking a woman's thong, then I wasn't quite as gay as I claimed, which meant there was hope for her yet.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. She followed after me as I went to chem, chattering all the while about her preferences in lingerie and asking me what colors I thought would look best on her. At least I managed to get someone else for lab partner.

Flash forward to the end of school. Trunks was driving us back to Capsule Corp, and I'd already decided that, in some small way, I had to get a bit of my own back against him for the sheer absurdity he has wrought on my life over the past week. So when he pulled into the driveway, I didn't climb out of his convertible. Instead, I reached over, pulled the lever on the side of his leather seat, and pushed him down so he was lying almost flat inside of his car.

You should know that Trunks is _frighteningly_ easy to turn on. A lick on the ridge of his ear, a kiss on the side of his neck, and a bit of nibbling at his collarbone, and he's inevitably worked up and ready to go. So that's exactly what I proceeded to do. I smirked in satisfaction as I climbed over him, sliding my right hand between his legs to taunt the signature hardness that had appeared beneath the cloth of his pants.

Trunks smiled. "So does this mean you've reconsidered the sex embargo?"

I grinned a bit as I nipped at his earlobe. "Nope."

And with that, I jumped out of the car, popped open my plane capsule, and flew home.


	7. Entry 07

_Saturday 3 October_

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to fucking kill him. I am going to hunt him down in his sleep, rip out his intestines and _strangle him with them_.

It started this morning, when I headed over to Capsule Corp to get some of the weekend's homework done. My mom was in full-on housekeeping mode, so I knew that if I wanted to get anything accomplished, I would have to get out of my house to do it. Knowing what I do now, I would have just camped out Gohan's for a few hours instead of heading out to West City. But, no, I just _had_ to go hang out with my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend.

(When I say ex-boyfriend, I don't mean I'm going to break up with him. I mean that I am going to _end him_, and therefore he will not only be an ex-boyfriend, but an ex-friend, an ex-Saiyan, an ex-Earthling, etc.)

Anyway. This morning. I got to Capsule Corp, portfolio in hand, hoping I could make some headway on my art project. I didn't find Trunks in his room, and since I couldn't hear the whirr of the gravity generators from downstairs, I quickly figured out where Trunks would most likely be. I walked down the hall to find Trunks sitting cross-legged on the floor of Bra's room, his baby sister in his lap, reading her some children's fantasy book in a host of silly voices.

I'm actually really fond of Bra, at least when she isn't drunk and damn near getting me killed by the Prince of All Overprotective Daddies. Partially because she's an unbelievable cutie—even if she _is_ spoiled rotten—but also because she's the only one that brings out that side of Trunks that acts halfway normal. For some bizarre reason, he really doesn't like people to know that, under the layers of near-sadistic mischief, he's ultimately a nice guy. As much of a cliché as it is to blame the parents, I chalk it up to the fact that Bulma—while not a bad mother—is a complete spaz, while Vegeta is...well, Vegeta.

He didn't notice I was standing in the doorway until I chuckled at the particularly silly voice he used for one of the elves in the story. Both Trunks and Bra looked up. Bra gave me a big smile and waved at me, while Trunks just raised an eyebrow. He made a comment about how I'd gotten in earlier than he expected me, and told me to go set up my art supplies in my room, saying he'd be there in a couple of minutes.

I have to admit something: I'm a klutz. A total, complete klutz. I mean, I'm super-coordinated when I'm fighting or sparring, but in normal day-to-day dealings with the world, I'm always tripping over my own two feet. So, really, I shouldn't have been surprised when I walked into my room, stumbled over a pair of sneakers I'd left sitting on the floor, and slammed head-first into the desk, breaking off a small piece of the corner. I was sitting on my knees, rubbing the bump that was quickly forming on my forehead when I heard Trunks' voice.

"You know, you ought to be more careful. Don't want to end up with another scar on your head." I turned around and stood. He was leaning on one side against the doorframe, letting a few strands of his hair fall into his eyes. Normally, it makes him look irresistibly sexy. Right then, it just made him look like an arrogant, self-possessed ass.

My hand shifted from the bump on the middle of my forehead to the smooth, raised bit of skin that sat near the right side of my hairline. I frowned for a moment, confused, before remembering that I had never actually filled him in on how I'd _gotten_ that particular scar. He still thought I'd fallen headfirst onto a rock when I was five.

I was about to explain the story of how I _actually_ got that scar when he spoke up again. "Don't make plans for tonight."

I frowned at him, plopping onto my bed. "Why not?"

"We're going to the Serpents and Scorpions concert."

"Uh, _no_?" I frowned at him as he joined me on the bed. Trunks doesn't even _like _S&S, so I had no idea why he'd want to go. When I asked, he just said that Addo wanted to go. Not a surprise—those "bizarre, unholy sexcapades" that S&S concerts are famous for are totally Addo's kind of scene.

I failed to see Trunks' point. "So let him go!"

"Chibi, don't be like that. He doesn't want to go _alone_." Which I supposed made sense; according to Trunks, the last time Addo went to a concert alone, he ended up being carted home by a burly, bearded woman in leather chaps.

Addo make Trunks looks calm and responsible by comparison.

So I understood why Trunks wanted to go, but I still didn't see why I had to come with them. "Fine, you two can have fun. I am _not_ going."

"But _I_ don't want to get hit on."

"You can take care of yourself." I bit my lip, trying to find a way out of this. "Can't Dia or Kato babysit Addo tonight?"

"Dia and Kato are going out to celebrate their one-year anniversary, so no, they can't." He sighed, folding his arms and trying another approach. "Look, the band isn't _that_ bad."

"Trunks, half their songs are about having sex with dead bodies."

"I'll have you know that necrophilia has been the topic of a number of truly great works of art and literature."

"Not with titles like 'Corpses Can't Say No'!" I mean, _ew._

"Come _on_, Goten, don't be so immature about this."

That set me off. "Right," I said, standing from the bed and turning my back to him. "_I'm_ the immature one. Says the guy who spent the better part of lunch yesterday flinging underwear around the school hallways."

"Sometimes maturity is about knowing when to act like a complete goof." He stood behind me and placed a hand on my right shoulder. "And sometimes it's about knowing when to help a friend out in what could be a potentially awkward situation."

I turned to glower at him, knowing full well that I'd already lost this argument. "God _damnit_, Trunks."

The incredibly self-satisfied grin he gave me when I agreed to go with him SHOULD have been a clue that all was not right. I assumed at the time that he was just glad he had convinced me to go so he wouldn't have to deal with the drug-addled, horny masses that are S&S concertgoers alone.

Fucking hell, was I wrong.

Flash forward to about 9 p.m. Trunks, of course, managed to score amazing tickets, third-row-center in the main pavilion. This would have been fantastic, if the band _did anything other than shriek incomprehensibly_ over distorted guitars and painfully loud baselines. Trunks was sitting between me and Addo, who was decked out in the most hilariously flamboyant outfit I've ever seen—glitter, pink fishnet shirt, bright blue eyeliner, the works. (I don't understand how some guys can go for that look. I mean, jeez, you'd get the same results from a female hooker in Pepper City.) Trunks, meanwhile, kept looking to the empty seat on my right, all the while taking sips of whiskey from the flask he'd snuck into the concert.

Again. Trunks is kind of a lush.

I was mercifully starting to go deaf about fifteen minutes into the concert, when I turned to my right to see who had taken the seat next to me. Three guesses. No, really, go on. Guess.

That's right. _Ava_.

She didn't see me at first. She was chatting with a couple of girls in my grade, who I knew mainly through Dia. I sank into my seat, hoping she wouldn't see me through the haze of the stage's smoke machine, at least long enough for me to sneak away.

I turned to my left, intending to tell Trunks and Addo that they could fend for themselves, there was no way I was going to stick around now. Naturally, when I looked, Addo and Trunks had both disappeared, presumably to head up the lawn and get more booze. So I just stood up, hoping to sneak away.

Remember what I said about being a klutz? Well, the second I stood, I managed to step on a discarded beer can, flew three feet up into the air, and landed right on Ava's lap. Ava spilled the fruity mixed drink she'd been holding onto my head, and was in the middle of apologizing profusely when she realized who I was.

"Goten!" I could hear her excited shriek even over the blare of the electric guitars. Yes, she is that shrill.

Of course, she proceeded to latch onto me for the next hour. When I got up to leave, she just followed after me, which meant I couldn't fly away without blowing my cover. Because, you know, nothing is going to endear you to a gay guy like rubbing your ample bosom up against him at an awful rock concert.

This is what I don't get. Ava isn't some ugly or asocial girl, the kind you might _expect_ to be desperate enough to constantly hit on a homosexual male. She's actually really pretty—she's tall, only a couple of inches shorter than me even without the high heels, and she's got a pretty nice build. Thin frame, large breasts, tanned skin, shoulder-length dark brown hair, brown eyes, and she gets asked out on a fairly regular basis. She's part of the circle of girls that Dia hangs out with when Dia isn't off causing trouble with Trunks and Kato, so it's not like Ava's particularly lonely or doesn't have the opportunity to meet new people. I mean, yeah, she's kind of a ditz, but she should have _no_ trouble landing a boyfriend. So it continues to baffle me that she's made _me_ her target over the last year.

Anyway, I managed to lose her in the crowd once I made it out of the pavilion and onto the lawn. The lawn probably held twice as many concertgoers than the pavilion did, and was littered with food and drink concession stands. Despite the crowds, it wasn't hard to sense out Trunks' _ki_ signature and hunt him down. It was just a couple of minutes before I found him chatting up some brunette who was wearing a leather corset (and not much else).

"I don't want to get hit on" my _ass._

I shoved my way between them, grabbing Trunks' shoulder. "Can I borrow this?" I asked the girl, not waiting for an answer before I pulled him aside.

I dragged him over to a relatively open area near the portable lavatories that had been set up. I finally noticed that Addo wasn't with him, and asked where the froofy lunatic had run off to. Trunks shrugged and said the last he'd seen Addo, he was off making out with some hot blonde guy.

"I thought the whole point of you coming here was to keep him from getting into trouble."

"Which is why I didn't let him go off until I made sure he wasn't high or drunk." Then, not realizing the irony, he took another long gulp from his flask and offered to buy me a beer.

"You know I don't really drink."

"Pussy." He rolled his eyes at me.

"Look," I said, changing the subject. "We need to leave. Now. Let's go get a cab."

"Why's that?" he slurred out. His alcohol tolerance is pretty high, so I didn't want to know how much he'd had to drink to result in _visible_ drunkenness.

"First," I said, holding up one finger, "because this concert sucks. Second, we came here to keep an eye on Addo, so there isn't any reason for us to stay anymore. And third, you will not _believe _who I ran into."

He gave me the same smirk he'd had when I agreed to come to the concert in the first place, albeit a drunken, lopsided version of it. "Ava?" he asked knowingly.

I froze. "How the hell did you know?"

"Oh," he said, his grin widening. "Just a lucky guess."

"Trunks," I glared at him, snatching his flask away from him and tossing it over my shoulder. "_What. Did. You. Do?_"

"Nothing!" he insisted. "It's not like I could make a couple of phone calls, find out Ava's ticket number, throw some zeni around, and make sure we got tickets right next to her and her friends."

I stared at him for a full minute before reacting. See, for all the crap he pulls, there is a very short list of times that Trunks has made me _truly_ angry. But considering the fact that he knows _exactly_ how much Ava grates on my nerves—and was willing to use that fact against me—I feel like my response was more than justified.

I didn't care that his reflexes weren't half what they are when he's sober. I shoved him against one of the portable lavatory chambers, punched him in the gut, and left him there. I might have heard him throw up behind me as I walked away. I fumed my way to the edge of the lawn before taking off, not giving two shits if anyone saw me fly home.

Hell, anyone who saw it would probably assume it was some drug-induced hallucination. Which was fine by me.


	8. Entry 08

_Sunday 4 October_

I hate going to bed angry. See, when it happens, I wake up angry, and for the first few minutes I'm awake, I can't remember _why_ I'm so pissed off. So I end up lying in bed for a while, trying to piece together the day before through that hazy sleep-fog that always lingers right after I wake up. I then remember what it is that has me so peeved, and I get mad all over again.

Which is precisely what happened this morning. I woke up, immediately thought back to yesterday, and remembered the utter assholery displayed by my _supposed_ best friend. The little psychopath spent god knows how much money just to make sure I was stuck sitting next to the one person at our school that makes me truly uncomfortable. I flipped onto my stomach and buried my face into my pillow, fuming. I mean, what could possess Trunks to do something like that?

It's an unpleasant way to start the day.

So, as you can imagine, I was in a foul mood when I dragged my ass out of bed at 7 am. Yes, even though it's Sunday, I couldn't sleep past 7. It's getting harder and harder for me to sleep in on the weekends, something I'm willing to bet is a result of my body being conditioned to wake up early enough to make the daily commute to West City for school. I stomped my way into the kitchen, plopping down at the table. The house was completely quiet, so I figured my parents had slept in. I got up and started rummaging through the pantry for some tea; yeah, I was hungry, but I knew I was going to be too grumpy to enjoy breakfast until I got some caffeine in me.

Plus, I'm not much of a cook. I once got banned from the kitchen for a month after I tried to stir-fry some chicken and ended up setting the kitchen table on fire. Despite the fact that the table is at least five feet from the stove.

Anyway, I was scowling into my teacup and sipping on the underbrewed, over-sweetened liquid in it when I hear a loud _hiyaaaa!!!_ from outside the window. I peeked outside, and found that my parents were not still asleep. They were, in fact, outside. And they were _sparring_ of all things.

I set down my teacup and went out the back door, watching them. I had no clue what time they'd started, and I didn't think either of them noticed me. Even though Mom isn't anything close to being a match for my dad, they were both totally focused. Watching them dive and kick at each other actually managed to get my mind off my jerkass boyfriend for a while.

It's weird. As much as my mom wants me to focus on my schoolwork, the fact remains that she's the one who trained me in the first place. And the truth is, she's always been a fighter herself. Sure, she's not in the same league as dad or any of the other Saiyans. She also doesn't really stack up against some of the stronger humans out there, like Krillin or Tien. But she's definitely tough. Good thing, too—between my klutziness and my dad's occasional habit of forgetting his own strength, we probably would have broken every bone in her body by now if she weren't.

Hell, my parents got married the same day they fought each other at the global martial arts tournament. Doesn't that say everything?

About a minute after I stepped outside, my parents inexplicably stopped fighting. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then my mom nodded. The next thing I knew, there was a _ki_ blast headed straight for my head. I barely had time to get out of the way before turning into an energy-roasted Goten-kabob.

"Ack!" I cried, diving face-first into the grass and covering my head with my hands. I shakily stood up, looking at my parents as they both smiled at me. "What the hell was that for, Dad?"

My dad grinned. "You should always be on guard, Goten. Don't assume that just because someone isn't _looking_ at you, they don't know you're there."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, brushing dirt and grass off of my pajama pants. "I hear enough of that stuff from Vegeta, thanks."

My mom actually rolled her eyes at that. "Well, it's your _own_ fault for spending so much time at Capsule Corp." She looked me up and down, dusting her hands off. "I'm going to go make breakfast. Don't track dirt into the house now!" Her voice was stern, but she was still smiling when she went inside. I can't remember the last time I've seen her in such a good mood.

I turned back to my dad. "I didn't know you guys still sparred."

Dad nodded. "Every once in a while, yeah. I have to hold back, but Chichi definitely knows what she's doing." He crossed his arms and looked at me. "Any chance we can get a session in later today?

It was my turn to smile. "You bet!" Because there's no better therapy for boyfriend-induced angst than punching and kicking your lungs out for a few hours.

It may be true that my mom is the first one who taught me how to fight, and Gohan's the one that introduced me to flying and _ki _manipulation. But the fighter I am _now_, I have my dad to thank for that. He taught me pretty much every advanced move I know. Well, okay, Super Saiyan transformation notwithstanding, but that's a long story I'd rather not get into right now.

I looked back down at the grass stains on my pants. "Trunks already singed off my eyebrows in his lab. You didn't have to almost blast off my hair."

Dad laughed at that. "Yeah, that _would_ be tragic. Not that I'm biased or anything." He reached out and ruffled my hair. "People might actually be able to tell us apart for once!"

I rolled my eyes and ducked out from under his hand. I'm pretty sure he was only half-joking. I basically look like a slightly younger version of my dad—exact same face, exact same hair. I've got a leaner build than him, but that's mostly because I haven't spent nearly as much time training as he has.

Anyway, after breakfast, I changed into my training clothes—which at this point consist primarily of track pants and old t-shirts—and met my dad outside to train. Three hours and seven rounds later, I was completely wiped. Of course I didn't win a single match against him, but it was still a great way to work out my frustrations. By the time we were done, I was lying on the ground, panting. My dad, meanwhile, barely seemed to have broken a sweat.

I looked up at him, shielding my eyes from the sun. "I _will_ beat you one of these days. Just watch me."

Dad laughed. "Well, you're going to have to take your training a _little_ more seriously if you want to get to that level."

I sat up, crossing my arms. "I train plenty. Trunks and I damn near busted the gravity room a couple of weeks ago!" Of course, being reminded of Trunks darkened my mood instantly. I, once again, remembered what it was that had pissed me off so badly yesterday. So I was back to square one.

Dad seemed to sense how upset I'd suddenly gotten, and reached one hand down to help me up. "Hey," he said, changing the subject, "keep in mind, you're _way_ stronger than I was at your age. I didn't even become a Super Saiyan until I was almost twenty-five, remember?"

"Yeah," I said, standing up. "I guess."

"I mean it," he said. "And I _definitely_ couldn't punch my way through a mountain when I was six."

That got a smile out of me. I remembered that day, more than ten years ago. Gohan had been busy studying, and mom was cooking and cleaning, so I was stuck keeping myself entertained. I ended up spending the entire afternoon following after this small garden snake, until it decided to burrow into the cracks between some boulders. I tried to move them out of the way, but I still couldn't find the snake. So, given a lack of other options, I just kind of started punching my way through. I never did find the little guy, but about an hour later, I realized I'd actually bored a person-sized hole through the base of a mountain.

I frowned at my dad as soon as I realized that he had been dead at the time. I asked him how he knew about that story. He paused for a moment, thinking, then said that my mom had told him about it.

As if on cue, my mom yelled at us to come in for lunch. I grinned at my dad as we walked into the house, both making sure to wipe off our feet very carefully lest we face my mother's frying-pan-wielding wrath. It's nice, knowing he's not letting something like being gone for the first seven years of my life color our relationship.

So, right now, I'm a bruised, tired mess. I'm still supremely pissed off at my boyfriend. I've barely finished my homework for tomorrow, and I haven't made any more progress on my art project.

But I don't think I'll be going to bed nearly as pissed off tonight. At least that's something.


	9. Entry 09

_Monday 5 October_

My name is Son Goten, and I need a fucking vacation.

There has _got_ to be something in the water at West City High School. There's just no other explanation. Almost everyone who walks through the doors of the school is soon afflicted with some form of madness. It's a miracle I've managed to cling to my own sanity so long.

Then again, if I _were_ crazy, I probably wouldn't _know_ I was crazy. Whatever.

Today's first study in lunacy comes in the form of my calculus teacher, Mr. Mori. He's a short, squat, balding man with beady eyes and a face that just about always seems twisted up in a scowl. He's really unpleasant—I swear, Vegeta is the motherfucking Fairy of Gumdrops and Happiness by comparison. I also call Mr. Mori a teacher in the _loosest_ sense of the word; the fact is, he's not much of a lecturer. I have yet to leave a single class knowing more about advanced mathematical operations than when I went in. Yes, I've never been a natural at math like Trunks, or Gohan, or even Nao, but I haven't struggled like this in any other math classes. So I have to think that part of the problem is Mori's teaching style, not just my perpetual lateness and general lack of interest in the subject.

Anyway, I spent the first half of class today zoned out, alternating between thinking about some of the more difficult fighting maneuvers I went over with my dad yesterday and thinking about the utter jerkitude (yes that is a word now) that is Trunks Briefs. I zoned back in just in time to see Nao raise his hand and comment about an integration formula Mr. Mori had put on the board. Nao—very politely, I might add—pointed out that Mr. Mori had made a small error. Mr. Mori tried to argue the point, but Nao insisted that Mr. Mori had written the formula incorrectly. Soon enough, the rest of the class started humming and nodding; apparently, now that Nao had pointed it out, a lot of the other students could see where the mistake had been made.

So what does Mr. Mori do? Does he correct the problem on the board and move on with his lesson? No. Does he pull Nao aside and quietly chide him for disrupting the lecture? No. He turns red in the face, starts yelling at Nao for being "disrespectful," wipes the equation off the board entirely, and—I swear I'm not making this up—_gives the entire class a pop quiz._ His rationale was that if his students knew the material _soooo_ well, clearly they didn't need him to teach it.

To my classmates' credit, they didn't seem to blame Nao for this turn of events. They all know how useless Mori is.

As you can imagine, I did not leave calculus in the best of moods. I grumbled and glared my way through literature and history, until I got to art class. Which brings us to our next case study in craziness, my art teacher, Ms. Shi.

If there really is something in the water, I'm willing to bet that Ms. Shi put it there. Probably to "draw out the school's creative energy" or some such bullshit. The woman is completely off her rocker. Don't get me wrong—75% of the time, the class is pleasant enough. She usually just leaves us to our own devices, and most of the time we're either painting or drawing in our sketchbooks. But the rest of the time, she tries giving us actual _assignments_, all of which are both totally frustrating and completely useless.

It's not just this damn art project (which I should probably get started on soon). Take today's class, for instance. I was hoping I could just sit down with some charcoal pencils and work out my frustrations—say, by drawing Trunks being disemboweled by a swarm of pigeons. (I figured that the birds that live in the school courtyard might want revenge for being drugged last week. I know I would.) But, no, Ms. Shi insisted that class today would be devoted to the creation of "human sculptures."

What, you may ask, is a human sculpture? Is it a sculpture of a person, based on a model? No, that would make _way_ too much sense. Instead, Ms. Shi had us stand up by our stools, pick poses, and hold them for _thirty minutes_. The point, she said, was to understand the creation of art "from the art's perspective." You know, ignoring the fact that clay doesn't _have_ a perspective, being an inanimate object and all.

Pardon me while I ignore the hypocrisy of addressing this journal like it's a person.

The poses were supposed to "reflect the dominant creative aura of the classroom." I couldn't make this shit up. I seriously considered revealing that I wasn't exactly _human_, and therefore should have been exempt from the assignment.

Who am I kidding? If I transformed into a Super Saiyan, Ms. Shi probably would have thought that I was "manifesting the artistic power" of her classroom. Or something.

I ended up folding my arms and rolling my eyes upward, and holding that pose for the required half-hour. Ms. Shi asked what I was doing, and I said that, as far as I was concerned, incredulity was the "dominant mood" of the class. Surprisingly, she actually bought it.

Moving on. I was more than ready to get out of there by the time the lunch bell rang, so I all but ran into the hallway when class ended. I ran into Dia—now sporting bright, bubblegum pink hair in two long braids—on my way to the cafeteria. She was holding a single-serve chocolate pudding cup and heading toward the principal's office.

I pinched the bridge of my nose with two fingers and asked, "Can't you leave Mr. Sen alone?" Because, really, our school's principal might be completely clueless, but he's not a bad guy.

"Of course I can," she said with a big, brilliant grin. "I just don't want to." I shook my head at her as she walked away, practically bouncing down the hallway.

Since I wasn't speaking to Trunks, I went to the cafeteria. Luckily, Nao was actually in there for once, so I joined up with him. Nao spends sixth period as a teacher's assistant for one of the freshman history classes, so he usually spends his lunch holed up in a corner of the library grading assignments.

After Trunks, who is _different_ for obvious reasons, Nao is probably my best friend. We met at the beginning of ninth grade, and hit it off right away. I'm never going to forget my first biology class—I'd been home schooled my whole life, and I'm pretty sure that was the first time I'd ever been around so many people my own age at once. Trunks, to his credit, did his best trying to help me adjust, but the fact remained that he was a year older than me, so we didn't share any of the same classes. Nao had picked a seat in the rear corner, obviously trying to avoid the throngs of gossiping fourteen-year-old girls. I joined him, glad to find a kindred spirit in the circus that was turning out to be high school.

Then I saw that he had a stack of Mr. Satan folders.

I rolled my eyes, afraid that I'd found another fan boy. I mean, Videl's dad is a decent enough man, but as a martial artist, he's pretty pathetic. I'm fairly sure that even Master Roshi's wrinkly ass could break him down with little to no effort.

I think Nao must have seen my reaction, because that's when he finally made eye contact with me. "I'm not," he said.

"Not what?" I asked.

"A fan," he said, and showed me his biology notebook. He'd drawn glasses, warts, and a beard in red pen all over the "champ's" face. Nao continued, "I think he's a total clown."

I started laughing. "You have _no_ idea."

"What," he asked sarcastically, "you met him or something?"

"You could say that," I bit out between laughs. "He's my brother's father-in-law."

"No shit?" And that's how it started. We spent the entire time our teacher was lecturing on single-celled reproduction passing notes, trading sketches, and generally paying little to no attention to the actual class. It's kind of been that way ever since.

Back to this afternoon. I'd hoped that since I managed to avoid him at lunch, I'd be able to get home without a single run-in with Trunks. Mostly because I still needed to cool down and figured—rightly—that if I saw him, I'd end up saying something I'd regret. Unfortunately, when gym ended and I made my way back to my locker, Trunks was standing there, blocking my access to my books.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked. I'd had a long day, and was not in the mood for Trunks' games.

"You didn't answer any of my calls yesterday," he said, looking down at his hands and picking at his fingernails. "And you weren't at lunch."

"Trunks," I said, "I need to get my books. Please get out of my way."

He looked up at me. "Passive aggressive much?"

I finally grabbed him by the shoulder and forcibly moved him, just barely avoiding knocking him into another student. "I'm still mad at you."

"Why?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused. Like the stupid fuck didn't know.

I whirled on him, grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and all but dragged him though the hall to the now-abandoned courtyard. Trunks clearly wasn't going to let this go, and the last thing I wanted was to make a scene in the middle of the school hallway.

"You fucking moron," I said as soon as we were outside. "You stuck me with _Ava_ while you went and got drunk on Saturday." I started rubbing my temples, trying to relieve the pressure that had built up in my skull. "Why would you set me up like that?"

His answer: "Chibi, you blue-balled me. That's cold, buddy."

My jaw dropped. Of all the stupid, unfair, completely disproportionate reasons to pull out. "Okay, between the eyebrows and making me wear _makeup_—"

"First off," he cut me off, "I didn't _make_ you do anything. Second, the eyebrows were an accident. You should know better by now than to get that close to an open panel of electrical wires. And third, even if I did blast off your eyebrows, _blue balls._ That's just evil."

There's Trunks for you. Master of rationalization.

Remember what I said about saying things I knew I'd regret? Well, the words came out before I could bite them back. "You're a teenage guy with your own private bathroom. You _should_ have been able to take care of it yourself."

He folded his arms and looked away, but not before I caught the stung expression on his face. "I can't really..." He trailed off and bit down on the right side of his lower lip, the same way he does whenever he's feeling uncomfortable. "You _know_ that." It wasn't even what he said so much as how he said it. Trunks didn't sound mad so much as _hurt_.

"Aw, damn," I mumbled, running my hands through my hair. I suddenly felt awful. See, for some bizarre reason or another (and this is really awkward) Trunks can't really masturbate. It's weird for a teenaged guy—especially one as perpetually horny as Trunks is—and it's something that he is _very _insecure about. It's probably part of the reason Trunks _is _such a sexaholic. And I'm the only one who knows about his strange little problem.

If I'm completely honest with myself, part of the reason I decided to get him all worked up in his car on Friday was the fact that I knew he wouldn't be able to get _himself_ off. The truth is, when I did it, I unthinkingly betrayed his confidence. The same way he had when he used my discomfort with Ava against me.

Of course, he should have just _told_ me why he was upset, not tricked me into Ava's clutches in the middle of an orgy masked as a rock concert. But his little act of revenge suddenly didn't seem so disproportionate.

I sighed and bit the bullet. "I know." I was still annoyed with him, but there was no point getting into an argument about who'd wronged who first. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry about it," he said, finally looking back at me. "Why don't we just call it even before we end up in another prank war?"

"Fair enough." Then, just to clear the air, I went ahead and asked about the girl I saw him flirting with at the concert.

"Goten, she was wearing a corset and a pair of short shorts. I was just doing my duty as a red-blooded male by chatting her up. Figured if she felt the need to wear an outfit that skimpy, she could use the ego boost." He shot me a brilliant grin. "But she cannot hold the merest candle up to the flame that is your sexiness."

Despite myself, I laughed. I probably shouldn't have let that go so easily, but Trunks has always been a shameless flirt. It's pretty harmless.

Still. It wouldn't kill him to say that he's sorry for once. When I told him this, he just responded, "Sure it would, Chibi. I'd choke to death on the words."


	10. Entry 10

_Wednesday 7 October_

I bitch about Trunks, a lot. And it isn't just in my journal. The main victim of my ranting is usually Nao.

Now, don't get me wrong, I really do love the violet-haired lunatic. But Nao is about as different from Trunks as you can get, and that's probably one of the main reasons I like him. Where Trunks is chaos and mayhem and, let's face it, a healthy dose of arrogance, Nao is one of the most chill and down-to-Earth people I've ever met. _Nothing_ gets to that guy. I haven't told him about the fact that I'm not fully human, and I've only hinted at the super-strength thing, but I could probably tell him everything and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. He'd shrug, calmly make sure I'm not going to lay alien-spawn eggs in his brain, and let it go.

The only reason I haven't told him is because I don't need anyone else carrying around my secrets. So, of course, to make up for it, I bitch at him about my relationship. (Stop judging me. It makes sense in my head.) I'd gladly return the favor if Nao would just find something to bitch _about._ But short of eviscerating (great word, learned it from Trunks, so much more graphic-sounding than "disemboweling") his mother and feeding the dear woman her own intestines, I'm not sure what could tick him off enough that he would need to vent.

In any event, I was whining at Nao before calculus yesterday morning, primarily about how Trunks seems to be physically incapable of apologizing. Nao cut me off mid-sentence and asked, "If he really makes you so crazy, why are you still together?"

It's a good question.

Allow me to flash back to, of all things, Bra's birth. Now, "peaceful" is not a word I (or anyone else in their right mind) would normally associate with the Briefs family. But when I think about the night Trunks' sister was born, that's the only way I can think of to describe it.

It was nothing like Pan's birth a year later. See, when Pan was born, it was in the middle of the afternoon on a slow news day. So, as you can imagine, I could barely shove my way through the throngs of reporters that had crowded into the hospital, trying to get that first picture of Mr. Satan's granddaughter. Between Hercule freaking out, my mother freaking out, Gohan freaking out because everyone _else_ was freaking, and my dad doing everything in his power to keep everybody calm—which wasn't too successful—it was a complete fucking circus.

I finally had to hide up near the ceiling and fire small _ki_ blasts at all the photographers' cameras to get rid of them. None of them could figure out what happened to their cameras, and none of them realized that I had actually done them a favor. A few broken lenses were _nothing _compared to what Videl would do to those journalists if they ruined her special day.

Of course, it was all worth it by the time Pan came shrieking her way into the world. But the waiting period was less than pleasant.

Anyway, back to Bra. I was twelve, and I remember being woken up at about one in the morning by the phone ringing. Just as I was starting to get back to sleep, my dad came in to get me up, saying that Bulma had called and that we should get to West City. It's weird to think about, seeing as I've actually known Bulma a lot longer than I've known my dad, but she _is_ his oldest friend. He'd insisted that he call her when the time came, and she hadn't put up an argument.

Bulma had opted for a home birth—apparently, it was the same thing she'd done with Trunks. She'd hired a midwife and a couple of nurses that she could trust to keep their mouths shut about the fact that her kid would, more than likely, be born with a tail.

Gohan and Videl were away at school and in the middle of university exams, so they had promised to swing by the next afternoon. I grabbed onto my dad's left arm, my mom held his right, and he used instant transmission to get us right into the Capsule Corp living room. We went upstairs to see Trunks leaning against the wall in the hallway. Vegeta was—and this was a shock—actually in the bedroom, and god knows _how_ Bulma managed to get him to agree to that.

What am I saying? A pissed off Bulma is scary enough on a regular basis. I sure as hell wouldn't want to go up against an angry, _pregnant_ Bulma.

Anyway, my mom was pacing up and down the hallway, debating out loud if she should go in there and try to help. My dad reminded her at least three separate times that Bulma had gotten the best medical assistance that money could buy, and would probably want to be left alone until the whole bloody process was over. I stood against the wall with Trunks, watching him frantically tapping his foot and trying to hide how anxious he was. Bulma, meanwhile, must have gotten the world's largest epidural, because I swear the bedroom was almost completely quiet until we heard that distinctive screeching that can only come from the (surprisingly strong) lungs of a newborn.

Now, Trunks is a lot more like his dad than he'd care to admit. He has a hard time showing emotion (unless, of course, you count "boredom" and "lust" as emotions). But while Vegeta hides his feelings behind a veneer of iciness and stoicism, Trunks hides behind his own utter insanity. Don't get me wrong, he is a genuinely weird guy, with a host of very bizarre interests, but he plays it up to the point where it's hard to tell where sincerity ends and the act begins.

So it was weird—in the best possible way—when one of the nurses opened the door and let us all in. Bulma was holding the baby (which already looked like a mini Bulma-clone) and looking equal parts drained and relieved. Vegeta had this weird expression on his face, and it took me a minute to realize that I'd never seen him smile that genuinely before.

Well, okay, that's a lie. I've seen it _once_, right before the guy blew himself up fighting Buu. But seeing as the circumstances weren't _nearly _as happy, I'm not going to count that.

It was even weirder seeing Vegeta actually nod at my dad when he congratulated him and clapped him on the shoulder, instead of shrugging him off like I would have expected. But nothing matched the moment Vegeta handed Trunks the little blue-haired bundle, wrapped in a pink blanket. I swear to Dende, Trunks melted on the spot. I'm never going to forget seeing Trunks hold Bra, in that awkward way all thirteen-year-old boys seem to handle _everything_. (I blame puberty and the way it makes your hands and feet grow to adult-size before _anything_ else.)

"Hey," he said, nuzzling the baby's cheek. "I'm Trunks. I'm your brother." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the room was so damn _quiet_ you could hear him loud and clear.

After sixteen years of friendship, I can count the number of times I've seen him cry on one hand. But Trunks actually got misty-eyed when Bra opened her eyes and looked right at him. I mocked him for it later, of course, but at the time, I was too stunned to laugh.

Now, I'm not going to say that this was when I realized I wanted to go from friends to more-than-friends. I mean, I was _twelve_; we didn't get together until almost three years later. But Trunks is always so damn guarded. The truth is, in the very rare times he lets his guard down, I really like what I see.

Which brings us to last night. It was about 8 pm, and I was working at the desk in my room at Capsule Corp, still trying to come up with a concept for the project Ms. Shi had assigned. I was chewing on a pen, staring at the prompt as if an idea would just magically materialize on the page, and generally wondering what the hell my art teacher had been smoking when she came up with this assignment.

Trunks knocked on my door, and didn't wait for me to answer before coming in. He walked into the room, slamming the door behind him. It's a bad habit of his, but it's something you get used to soon enough. He had his own backpack with him, so I'm guessing he wanted to camp out on my bed and study together. "Hey," he said, dropping his backpack onto the floor, "what are you up to?"

I half-groaned as I turned to look at him. "Still agonizing over my art project."

"You should really—"

"Trunks," I interrupted, "for the last time, I am _not_ drawing myself coming out of the birth canal and going down on you."

He crossed his arms and frowned at me. "My brilliant artistic notions notwithstanding, I was _going_ to say that you should really be studying for your calculus test. Seeing as it's tomorrow."

I looked at him in confusion, froze up as I realized what he was talking about, and dropped my chewed up pen to the floor. I then proceeded to slam my head, repeatedly, into my desk.

Trunks sighed dramatically. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Damnit," I said, "you'd think Mr. Mori would have reminded us in class."

"He probably did when you weren't listening."

"Probably." I rested my head back onto my desk with a _thunk_. "I'm going to fail this test. Then I'm going to flunk calculus, be held back a grade, and my mother is going to spend the next two years alternating between screaming and crying at me."

Trunks plopped into the extra chair at the side of my desk. "What unit are you on?"

"Indefinite integrals," I said, forehead still pressed against the table. "And we're supposed to be able to write out the proof for something called the Rich algorithm."

"Risch algorithm," Trunks corrected, sounding exasperated. "Do you even know what it _does?_"

I sat back up. "Not a fucking clue."

Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he winced. "Okay, sit right there. I'll be back in ten minutes." He left the room, and, true to his word, he was back about ten minutes later, balancing tray of tea and two mugs in one hand and a pile of old notebooks in the other. He spread the books across my desk and set down the tray.

"Okay, Chibi," Trunks said, pulling up the other chair. He grabbed the red notebook at the top of his pile and opened it. "What is it you don't understand?"

I smiled at him sheepishly. "Everything?"

His face fell. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"Okay," I said, looking at his notebook. "What's the difference between an antiderivative and an integral?"

He shook his head. "An indefinite integral is the same thing as an antiderivative."

I smacked my forehead, which was still a bit sore from being slammed into my desk. That would have been good to know, say, last week. "Mr. Mori definitely didn't tell us that."

"He isn't much of a teacher," Trunks agreed. "Why do you think I never went to class?" Which is, of course, not true. Trunks never showed up to his calculus class because school is a complete joke for him. With his test scores, especially in math and science, he could have graduated and been most of the way through college by now.

Anyway, that's how we went on until about two in the morning. Trunks spent the next six hours going through every topic that would be on my test, explaining it in a way that actually made _sense_. I wasn't especially impressed with Trunks' knowledge of the subject—he's always been crazy-smart (on top of just being crazy). What _was_ pretty surprising was how patient he was. He didn't give me a hard time for not understanding what are supposed to be pretty basic calculus operations, instead breaking every formula down step by step until I actually got it.

So, yes, Trunks is the kind of irresponsible, borderline sadistic jackass that will set me up for an encounter with an incredibly annoying not-so-secret admirer at an awful rock concert. But he's also the kind of boyfriend—and _friend_—that will blow off all his own homework just to help me prepare for a test I really should have spent the last two weeks studying for. And do a damn good job with it, too.

The last thing I remember from last night was Trunks saying he was going to restock our caffeine supply. Next thing I knew, it was 6:45 am, I was fully dressed in my bed, and Trunks was collapsed on top of my covers next to me.

Anyway, I think I did pretty well on the test this morning. I had trouble with a couple of problems near the end, but I actually felt pretty confident with most of my answers.

So, to answer Nao's question, I just said that the good outweighs the bad. It always has.

I should really go work on my art project now. I'm thinking I might just draw a landscape of the Mount Paozu area and have it fade into an image of the West City skyline. Maybe bullshit some explanation about the juxtaposition of urban and rural in modern life.

Or maybe I'll just go take a nap. Yeah, that's a way better plan.


	11. Entry 11

_Thursday 8 October_

I am starting to think that Trunks and I aren't what you'd call a _normal_ couple.

For one, I don't think normal couples spend their weekends hanging out in underground science labs and blasting off each others' eyebrows. Not that I'm still bitter about that; it's been almost two weeks, and my eyebrows have pretty substantially grown back in. I mean, the hairs are more short and fuzzy than anything else, but at least it doesn't look like they're _missing_ anymore.

As a further study in unconventional relationships, let's take lunch today. Nao had finished up all the work he'd had to do for his teacher assistant job, so he wanted to meet up for lunch. I was meeting up with him when my phone dinged, letting me know I had a text message.

There is a very short list of people who know my phone number, and since I was standing with Nao and my parents couldn't figure out mobile phone messaging if their lives depended on it, I figured it had to be Trunks. See, Bulma gave me the phone last year, saying that I spent so much time at her house that it made sense for her to be able to get in touch with me. She's got a private phone service set up—she manufactured the phones herself, and she's got a private satellite that she uses to transmit the communication signals. She claims it's not all that expensive if you just have spare satellites lying around anyway. Yeah, that's Capsule Corp for you.

Anyway, the message on my phone let me know that Trunks was in the courtyard with Addo, and that he expected me to show up for lunch. Yes, my obnoxious boyfriend just expects me to be at his beck and call, the bastard. I was about to message him back that I had other plans, but Nao said he didn't mind joining up with Trunks and Addo. I tried to warn him off, considering the fact that Trunks and I have _very_ different taste in friends. For instance, Addo is high-strung and high-maintenance, and Nao...isn't. But Nao insisted that it wasn't a problem, so outside we went.

The school courtyard is probably the most haphazardly furnished place I've ever seen. There are a couple of cheap, unpainted plastic benches, two rectangular picnic tables, and a round stone table in the middle of the courtyard that looks more than anything like a converted bird bath. The table has four built-in stone stools, and even though it's probably the least comfortable seating available out there, Trunks is, for some fucked up reason, very fond of them. So that's where he and Addo were, seated next to each other at the small round table.

Nao and I sat down with them, which was kind of awkward, because I'm pretty sure I can count the number of times Nao and Addo have interacted on one hand. Nao is on the quiet side anyway, while Addo can talk at a million miles an hour once you get him going. Addo was blathering on about this "unbelievable babe with, oh, just _amazing_ biceps and the best hair and gorgeous eyes and"—you get the point—when he abruptly cut himself off and started staring at Nao's head.

Nao slowly swallowed the bite of his sandwich in his mouth and raised an eyebrow. "Uh, can I help you?"

Addo kept staring at Nao's hair. "Do you use conditioner?"

"What?" Nao said, his right hand going to his ponytail. I just buried my face in my hands while Trunks struggled not to laugh.

"Your ends are distressed!" Addo said, looking closer. "You could _really_ use a deep conditioning treatment."

I looked at Addo. "Are we seriously having this conversation?"

Addo frowned back at me. "Goten, proper hair maintenance is essential to any man's overall appearance." He sighed wearily. "What kind of gay man _are_ you?"

"Aw, let up," Trunks said around a laugh. "Not _all_ of us are ready to go off and become hair models." And then, because Trunks has absolutely no sense of personal space, he reached over and brushed Addo's bangs out of his face.

That's when things got a bit strange. Addo blinked rapidly and turned a little red, and got completely quiet. Trunks raised an eyebrow at Addo, asking what was wrong, but he just shook his head and insisted he was fine. Nao and I shared a look—Trunks might have been oblivious, but we definitely weren't.

I shrugged and started to gather up my backpack, explaining that I needed to swing by my locker before chemistry. Nao did the same, but as I was walking away from the table, Trunks grabbed my hand and pulled me backward. And, because I am a total klutz, I landed right on his lap.

"This is wildly inappropriate," I said, scowling up at my boyfriend.

"Probably." He grabbed me by the nape of my neck and kissed me. I could feel him smiling against my lips before he broke the kiss. "Now ask me if I care."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You're just lucky you're cute."

"Yep," he grinned. "See you after school, sexy." I couldn't help but notice as I stood that Addo suddenly looked very, _very_ uncomfortable.

I started walking with Nao back into the school building. "Hey, Goten," Nao said as soon as we were out of earshot, "what the hell was that about?"

I sighed. "You tell me."

"Does Addo have a thing for Trunks?" And I told him, yeah, I suspected as much anyway. I mean, I know they hooked up a couple of times before Trunks and I got together, but I really would have thought that Addo would've gotten over him by now.

Whatever. Trunks is pretty clueless.

Anyway, fast forward to this afternoon. I'm also pretty sure that normal couples don't beat the shit out of each other for fun, but that's what Trunks and I were doing. We've been training together since we were little kids, and that's one aspect of our relationship that really hasn't changed over the years. Of course, what _has_ changed is the gap in our power levels, so even at 200 times normal gravity, I can do a pretty good job of keeping up with Trunks.

Three hours into our training, Trunks finally dragged his sweaty, exhausted ass over to the main controls and shut down the artificial gravity. I leaned forward against my knees, trying to catch my breath, and the next thing I knew, Trunk had wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"You're sexy when you're a sweaty mess, you know that?"

I stood up straight and turned around in his arms. "Only you would be in the mood for sex after training with me for three hours."

Trunks grinned. "I'm sorry," he said, in that smug, superior tone that always drives me nuts. "Remind me how it was that your parents ended up getting married?"

I shuddered and rolled my eyes at him. "My parents are weird," I said. "Martial arts tournaments don't usually bring out the romance in a couple."

"Yeah, well, I guess I can't really blame your mom," Trunks said. "Your dad's hot."

I gaped at him and pushed his arms off me. "Trunks!"

"Chibi, you guys are _identical._ I'd think you'd be offended if I _didn't_ think Goku was attractive."

"That's entirely beside the point!" Which brings me to my next example of how Trunks and I are a weird couple. I'm pretty sure normal boyfriends don't like to tell you how attractive your _father_ is.

The freak rolled his eyes at me. "Come on, Chibi, don't be like that. You know you're the only Son boy for me."

"Whatever," I said, determined to change the subject.

Trunks got an especially perverted smirk on his face. "That being said, if you ever want to invite tall, dark and nerdy to join us one of these days..."

I smacked him on the back of his head, trying to decide whether lusting after my brother was better or worse than lusting after my father. "Jerkoff."

His grin widened. "Would if I could, Chibi."

All things considered, though, it's amazing that Trunks is as well-adjusted as he is. Because, as I was so gloriously reminded this afternoon, he is nowhere near as fucked up as his parents.

See, after we finished training and getting cleaned up, we went down to the kitchen to grab a post-workout snack. And suddenly, I realized why it is that Trunks drinks as much as he does. Because as soon as we walked in, we saw something I'm never going to be able to scrub from my memory, no matter how hard I tried.

"Auntie" Bulma. My dear old "Uncle" Vegeta. Collars. On the kitchen table. Humping like rabbits. Very horny, very large rabbits. In collars. Using vegetable oil. And whipped cream. And, inexplicably enough, a rice cooker. _On the kitchen table._

Trunks stood frozen, staring at them. His mouth dropped and he gaped like a landed fish, unable to speak. For a second there, I was afraid he was actually going to stop breathing.

"Come on, Trunks," I said, pulling my now catatonic boyfriend away from the horrible display. "Let's get you upstairs, okay?"

He kept gasping. He was halfway up the stairs to his room before he managed to speak again. "DON'T YOU GUYS HAVE A BEDROOM FOR THIS SHIT!?" I took Trunks all the way to his room and sat him down on his bed. Once I made sure that he wasn't going to spontaneously have a stroke or fall into a coma, I made my way home.

Still, even the freakshow that is the Briefs household was probably preferable to my own house. When I got home, I tried to sneak my way past the kitchen and into my room without my mother noticing me. Unfortunately, her patented, built-in Mom-radar meant that she sensed me without even seeing me.

"Where are you going, Goten?" she said as I passed the entryway to the kitchen, all without turning away from the stove. "Dinner is in fifteen minutes."

"Yeah," I said, "I need to get started on my homework."

"_Started?_" She sounded aghast as she twisted her head to look at me. "What were you _doing_ all afternoon?"

"Training," I said, uncomfortably shifting my backpack from one shoulder to the other.

"Of course," she said, sounding frustrated. That's nothing new—my mother's rarely _not_ frustrated with me.

"Oh," she called after me as I walked back to my room, "Gohan called. He finished his dissertation defense. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yeah. Great," I said, shutting the door behind me. Subtle, isn't she?


	12. Entry 12

_Friday 9 October_

As much of a basket case as Trunks is, I'm so grateful that I'm at least dating a guy. Because girls? Make no fucking sense.

See, Trunks' eighteenth birthday is a week from tomorrow, and he wants to have a "crowded, debaucherous bacchanal that people will be talking about for _years_." Exact words, no shit. Trunks has a strict no-gifts policy for birthdays—said something about owning way too much useless shit as it is—so his mom just decided to rent out a local hotel ballroom, give Trunks a blank check, and let him do what he wants with it. Because, you know, giving a notoriously irresponsible teenage boy unlimited funds to fill an enclosed space with _other_ irresponsible teenagers and booze is _such_ a good idea. Anyway, since Dia has a lot more experience in the party-planning department, Trunks decided to recruit her to help. Either that, or Dia insisted on getting involved—not sure which.

Trunks tasked me with hunting down Dia after school today so we could all head back to Capsule Corp. Kato was going to meet up with us later, and since Dia cannot drive to save her life—she's failed the driver's test three times, including one incident in which she barreled the car into a truck filled with live poultry, releasing hundreds of chickens onto the highway—Trunks needed to give her a ride home. Now, seeing as Dia and I have gym together, I figured it wouldn't be too hard to find her after class. But no, by the time I'd gotten changed, she'd already disappeared.

I found her by her locker. Unfortunately, she was hanging out with her usual group of girlfriends, which includes about eight eleventh- and twelfth-grade girls. Now, I like Dia when it's just her hanging out with me and Trunks and Kato, but I'm never quite sure how to handle girls in large numbers. They were standing around together, chatting about makeup or shoes or god-knows-what and giggling incessantly. I swear, it's like they all share one brain, and there isn't enough to go around. Most of them I had seen in the hallways, but didn't know; a couple, like Trunks' classmates Laddi and Mela, I did recognize.

And, of course, Ava was there.

I sighed to myself before approaching the mass of giggling ditzes. I cleared my throat to get Dia's attention, and they all stopped talking at once. (See what I mean about them all sharing a brain?) Ava turned to look at me and grinned. "Goten!" I think she was about to start her routine of stubbornly oblivious flirting when Dia cut her off.

"Goten," she asked, "I need your opinion on something."

I turned to her, grateful that she'd cut in. "Yes?"

The gratitude didn't last. Because what she needed my opinion on was: "Are my boobs too small?"

I blinked a few times and stared at her. The rest of her friends kept quiet. "Dia, what the fuck."

"Are my boobs too small?"

"I don't know!" I yelled, throwing my hands up into the air. I didn't want to have this conversation, _especially_ around a group of my classmates. "I don't even like girls! Ask Kato."

"Kato's my boyfriend. He has to tell me how hot I am, whether it's true or not." All the other girls nodded and hummed in agreement.

"So ask Trunks."

"Trunks is a pervert."

I could deny that, so I just pointed at myself. "GAY. Remember?"

"I know that! That's why I'm asking you. I can trust you to be honest without being pervy."

And, because Ava is apparently a suck-up as well as a complete ditz, she just went, "Dia, stop worrying about it. You're _so_ pretty!"

"Easy for you to say!" Dia cried, looking up at Ava. "You're stacked!"

I finally managed to pull Dia away from the other girls and start walking toward the parking lot, but Dia wouldn't let up. As soon as we stepped outside, she stopped walking, folded her arms, and refused to move. "Would you just look already?"

I groaned and turned around, since she obviously wasn't going to let this go. I sighed as I looked down at her chest. And yes, okay, she's pretty flat-chested, but she's also short and skinny, so it didn't look too out of place. Besides, seeing as my idea of a nice chest consists of a set of well-defined pectorals, I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking for.

After staring for what I thought was an appropriate amount of time—couldn't have been more than about ten seconds—I answered. "They're _fine_."

"They're tiny!" she said, stomping one foot.

"_You're_ tiny."

"They're tinier!"

"Dia, can we stop talking about your boobs?"

"We're not talking about my boobs. We're talking about my LACK of boobs." At which point I just decided to give up and walk over to Trunks usual parking spot. He was standing there, gaping at his car and looking horrified, and a moment later I realized why.

Dia blinked and looked from Trunks' car back to Trunks. "What the hell is that?"

When Trunks didn't answer, I said, "It looks like Trunks' car is covered in pigeon shit."

Trunks finally turned to face me. "There isn't any on any of the other cars!" And he was right. Even though he wasn't parked under a tree or anything like that, his car was absolutely _covered_ in the stuff. Neither the car to its left or the one to its right had a single bird dropping on it.

I held back a laugh. "Maybe they're getting back at you for drugging them."

Dia piped up again, "You drugged a bunch of birds?"

Trunks whirled on Dia. "At least I didn't fill their bird baths with pudding!" He grabbed a napkin out of his backpack to grab the handle of his car door and get inside. He drove us back to Capsule Corp in the guano-covered vehicle, and the first thing he did was grab a hose to wash off the bird crap. He blasted the water at maximum power, and had just about finished by the time Kato pulled into the driveway.

Anyway, as soon as we got inside, Kato and Dia went upstairs so that Dia could set up her "party planning portfolio"—which, as far as I could figure out, was a large stack of folders filled with references for DJ's, caterers, alcohol delivery services (which I didn't even know existed, and am I the only one that thinks combining booze and trucks is a bad idea?), etc. Trunks and I, meanwhile, went into the kitchen to grab some snacks. I almost laughed at the way Trunks hesitated before walking into the kitchen—after yesterday afternoon, I really couldn't blame him—but the room was thankfully empty. I stared at the table for a minute while Trunks gathered up some sodas.

"Hey, Trunks?" I asked. "Is...is that a new table?"

"Yes," he said without looking at me. "It is."

"What happened to the old one?"

"I took it outside, blasted it into a thousand pieces and incinerated each of those pieces."

"Sounds like overkill."

"Not even remotely."

I raised an eyebrow at him and asked him what had happened to the rice cooker. He pointed to a pile of molten plastic and metal that was sitting on the counter. I asked why he hadn't thrown it away. He said that when he blasted it, it had fused to the counter.

Flash forward to about fifteen minutes later. By then, we were in Trunks room, Trunks and I were sitting on his bed. Kato had laid out stacks of paper, and Dia was spitting out ideas while spinning around in Trunks' desk chair.

"How do you feel about escargot?"

Trunks blinked at her. "Dia, a bunch of seventeen-year-olds aren't going to want to eat cooked snails." It's a sad day when Trunks Briefs is the voice of reason.

"It tastes like chicken!" she insisted.

"That's _frog legs_," he said.

"Okay," she said, ceasing her spinning long enough to cross something off her notepad. "Let's forget about food for a while. Music?"

"Live band?"

"Not as cool as you'd think. Trust me, DJ's are better at taking requests."

"But..." Trunks trailed off. "Drummers are hot." At which point I elbowed him in the side, because, you know. He deserved it.

Dia frowned. "You make an interesting point." She pulled up her chair to Trunks' computer and started doing an image search for "hot drummers." Trunks went over to the computer, and they started shrieking, in unison, about the "spectacular areolas" of a bunch of half-dressed, coked-out musicians. Kato and I...kinda just stood there and stared.

I turned to Kato. "We're dating a pair of lunatics. You realize that."

Kato nodded. "Think they'll ever grow out of it?"

"I doubt it. Trunks has actually gotten _worse_ since he was a little kid."

"Alright," Kato said calmly. "I think someone needs a time-out." And he stood, foisted Dia over his shoulder, and carried her out of the room. She tried to get out of his grip, of course, but seeing as Kato is a pretty big guy and Dia is a midget, she mostly just succeeded in kicking her legs wildly about and shouting at him to put her down.

I looked at Trunks as Kato carried a flailing Dia out into the hallway, ignoring her shrieks to let her down right NOW, you Neanderthal! "I can't decide whether they're adorable, or just kind of weird."

Trunks grinned at me. "Am I to understand you _don't_ want me carrying you over the threshold?"

I stared at him, because there were just so many things wrong with that statement. I started with, "Trunks, we're already in your room."

"Doesn't matter!" At which point he slipped one arm under my knee, the other behind my shoulder blades, and picked me up. I gave him all of three seconds to put me down, which, of course, he didn't, so it quickly devolved into more of a wrestling match than any sort of embrace.

Now, more than a decade of martial arts training means that I am, despite my klutziness, a pretty graceful fighter. At least when I want to be, and the same can definitely be said for Trunks. But at times like that, when it's just the two of us messing around, it turns into a messy, unskilled, amateurish scuffle. So I twisted out of his arms and pinned him to the floor, he pushed me off and grabbed wildly at my arms to restrain me, I kneed him in the stomach, and it's a good thing his room is so big or else we probably would have broken every piece of furniture in the place.

I mean, I accidentally busted up his room once when we were kids. That was quite enough for one lifetime.

In any event, that's about when Kato walked back into the bedroom. By this point, Trunks had me in a headlock, while I was viciously elbowing him in the gut, so we must have looked pretty ridiculous. We both looked at Kato before Trunks let me go, and I stood and worked out the crick that our little wrestling match had left in my neck. I noticed that Dia wasn't with him, so I asked where she'd gone off to. Kato said that he'd stuck her on top of the refrigerator.

At least I'm not the only one with a completely fucked up relationship.

Anyway, Trunks went to retrieve Dia, mostly because of his concern over what she would do to the Kato's genitalia if she didn't get down from there soon. Trunks came back into his room carrying her piggyback, and she was completely red in the face by the time he set her down.

She stalked up to Kato. "Just because I'm small doesn't mean you can stick me in kitchen cabinets!"

He shrugged. "Don't exaggerate. I only put you on top of the fridge." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Though you _would_ probably fit in one of the cabinets..." Dia tried to smack him upside the head, but even on her tip-toes she couldn't quite reach, so she settled for hitting him on the arm.

Ah, true love. It's a beautiful thing, right?

Dia spun around in place to address me and Trunks again. "So, you boys up for anything tomorrow night?"

"Sorry," Trunks said. "Goten's nerdboy of an older brother just finished his dissertation, so my mom's throwing him a big party tomorrow." Because there's nothing better than spending your Saturday night being reminded how _ridiculously awesome_ your older brother is.

She waved around her fingers in mock enthusiasm. "Whoo, physics."

"Hey," Trunks said, "don't mock scientists. I'm going to be one too."

"Yeah, but you're going to be the cool kind. The kind that blows shit up."

"Very true."

"_Anyway_," I interjected, "tomorrow's out. What about Sunday?" When Dia said she had plans with Ava, I shuddered and asked, "You busy tonight?"

Kato and Dia shared a wince. "My parents are forcing me to go to an Aki Jerky company function." She let out a groan. "Nothing sixteen year old vegetarians love more than sitting in a room with a bunch of stuffed shirts talking about meat-packing all night."

Trunks gave a meaningful glance to Kato. "I thought you _liked_ packing meat," he said with a perverted grin.

Dia smacked him. "Not what I meant, lech." Then she looked at me. "And that's why I asked _you_ to check out my boobs."

I couldn't resist. "Or lack thereof." So she punched me in the gut as hard as she could. Which, considering she probably hasn't broken ninety pounds and has no upper body strength to speak of, wasn't very hard. She actually pulled back, shaking her hand in pain.

"Good lord," she asked, "are you wearing a bulletproof vest under there?"

"Nope, those are his abs," Trunks answered for me, looking smug. "My boyfriend is just that sexy." I rolled my eyes at Trunks as Dia went back over to his desk and decided to start making up the guest list.

Dia pulled out the student directory and started going through the entire junior and senior classes, while Trunks gave each classmate a simple "yes" or "no" and Dia marked it on a checklist. She began by going through the seniors, while Kato and I...pretty much just sat there. I'm fairly sure I had the same look on my face as he did, the one that screams, "Great Kami why am I even here?" Dia and Trunks, meanwhile, went on like this:

"Maro?"

"Yes."

"Jin?"

"Jin's bailed on my last three parties after saying he'd be there. No."

"Addo?"

Trunks deadpanned, "No shit, Dia."

"Just going through the list," she shrugged. "Laddi?"

"Yes."

That got a reaction out of Dia. "But Laddi's a complete bitch!"

I finally spoke up. "You hang out with Laddi all the time."

Dia looked at me. "Well, _duh. _Laddi and I are friends. That doesn't mean I _like _her."

I scratched my head in confusion. "I thought that's _exactly_ what it meant."

Dia sighed and frowned at me like I was an especially stupid child. "Goten, you just don't understand girls."

I looked Dia up and down, flat chest, neon pink hair, piercings and all. "No," I admitted, "I really don't."


	13. Entry 13

_Saturday 10 October_

My name is Son Goten, and I do not drink.

Well, okay, that's an exaggeration. But I don't drink very much or very often, and Trunks makes fun of me for it, _constantly_. He taunts me with everything from wine coolers (god, how is it that he tops most of the time? He's so much girlier than I am) to decades-aged whisky, calling me a straight-edge little pussy. But I have good reasons for not drinking.

First, it takes me _way_ too much alcohol to feel any effect at all. I go through a six-pack of Asahi, and I'm not even buzzed. So, while I might enjoy the occasional bottle of beer, it generally isn't worth it to go further than that.

Second, if I _do_ succeed in becoming inebriated (gods I love that word, thank you again Trunks and your ridiculously sophisticated vocabulary), I tend to find myself babbling thoughts I would rather remain locked away in my own mind. Whether it's chatting about some of the more graphic details of my private life (which, thanks to my perverted boyfriend/best friend/training partner, can get pretty twisted), or angsting about being a super-strong half-alien that is never going to be anything close to normal...well, it's a loss of control that makes me really fucking uncomfortable. I never black out, but that just means I tend to remember all of the ridiculous shit I said while I was drunk.

The last time I really got blasted was my sixteenth birthday, a few months back. I'd had dinner with the folks before going out with Trunks and some of our schoolmates, and against my better judgment, I let him get me thoroughly plastered once we got back to Capsule Corp. It was fun at first, but eventually I started to feel sick. I mean, hell, we'd gone through three full bottles of sake by the time the evening was out.

What I _should_ have done was agree to spend the night at Trunks' place—like I do _half the time anyway_—but for some reason, I insisted on going home _right then_. Trunks claims that I started pounding my fist against my palm and loudly proclaimed that I wanted my blankie.

I don't know what Trunks is talking about. I haven't slept with Woobie in _years._

So Trunks—who was only a bit less drunk than I was—offered to fly me home. Not by plane, mind you, by ourselves. It took twice as long to get back to Mount Paozu than usual, but eventually we made it, and stumbled into my house at three in the morning. We banged into tables and chairs and sofas and just about every other fixture or piece of furniture in the place. And then my dad walked into the living room.

My dad is a heavy sleeper, so we must have been pretty loud. Trunks and I stood in the dark living room, absolutely still, holding our breath. As if my dad wouldn't be able to tell that we were both completely trashed so long as we didn't move.

No such luck. "You're drunk, aren't you?" He didn't sound mad so much as _entertained_, though. I guess after being married for over 25 years, he's just decided to leave all the parental freaking-out to my mother. God knows she does enough for the both of them.

I could tell Trunks was about to say "no," but, as much of an idiot as my dad acts, he's always been able to tell when I'm lying. Besides, even in the sake-induced haze, I was pretty sure he could smell the alcohol on us. So I admitted that, yes, I was drunk, and yes, the room was just a little bit spinny. Trunks opened his mouth and must have been about to protest, but before he could say anything, his eyes bugged out and his hand went straight to his mouth. Then he ran toward our single bathroom, barely making it before he emptied the contents his stomach into the toilet.

Undignified? Sure. But hey, at least he made it to the toilet.

My dad put a hand on my shoulder and led me into my bedroom. I stripped off my shoes and socks, but nothing else, as I stumbled through the hall and into my room, only to land facedown on my bed. Dad grabbed me by one shoulder and rolled me onto my side before asking if I was okay.

"I'm greeeeaaat," I slurred out. "Shuper, in fact." I kept my eyes closed, but shot my dad a huge grin. "Like a Shuper Shaiyan!" And I started laughing like a madman, because even a lame-ass joke like that seems downright _hysterical_ when you're as drunk as I was.

I swear, I could _hear _my dad frown. "That reminds me," he said, and suddenly he sounded very serious, "how _did_ that happen?" Pretty funny thing to ask, considering that in the nine years I've known him, he's never once brought it up. There is still only one person who knows all the details of that particular story, and he was off worshipping the porcelain god. And normally, I have a firm policy of avoiding the topic, period. But, again, I was _really_ fucking drunk.

In retrospect, I don't think my dad was taking advantage of my drunken state to interrogate me. Honestly, he doesn't have it in him to be that devious. He just doesn't have much of a filter when he's curious about something.

So, because I was hammered, I started to spill. "I was—" I paused to hiccup— "I was sheven, and, uhm, I was playin'...playin' with Trunks—"

And then Trunks, as if on cue, walked back into the room and cut me off. "Uh, Goku?" I heard him clear his throat. "Uh...which way is West City again?"

My dad laughed. "Why don't you just spend the night here, Trunks?" Trunks didn't answer, but the next thing I knew, I was being spooned from behind by my boyfriend. A few seconds later, I heard the door shut. I was out like a light within minutes.

Anyway, the point is that, as a general rule, I do not drink. But that's enough about me. Let's get back to this evening.

I've always assumed, up to now, that Gohan avoids alcohol for pretty much the same reasons I do. But tonight, there was a HUGE party at Capsule Corp celebrating the completion of my brother's dissertation. And as I watched the evening unfold, I learned the real reason Gohan doesn't drink.

I _almost_ felt guilty for being amused at Gohan's attempts to give flying lessons to the floor lamp. I just _nearly_ regretted taking pictures—lots of pictures, from various angles and with various degrees of lighting—that I can use for blackmail months, maybe years, down the road. And I came very, _very_ close to feeling bad about the pure satisfaction I felt at finding an area in which I am clearly superior to Gohan.

Super Saiyan or not, some guys just can't hold their liquor.


	14. Entry 14

_Sunday 11 October_

I hate to admit it, but I am my three-year-old niece's _bitch_.

Her name is Pan, and she is (please forgive me for sounding like a preteen girl) JUST THE CUTEST THING EVER TO EVER GRACE THE PLANET EVER! She mostly looks like a younger version of her mom, except around the eyes (she's _all_ Gohan there), and the worst part is that she knows _exactly_ how adorable she is. And how to exploit it. Which is a problem for me, seeing how frequently I end up babysitting her.

Take today for instance. Videl called me at about noon, asking if I could watch Pan. She'd apparently been called into work at the last minute, and needed someone to babysit. Since my mother was out shopping, and my dad had disappeared for the day—presumably to train—that left me. When I asked why Gohan couldn't just watch her, she just said that he was "a bit out of commission."

After spending an appropriate amount of time laughing at the mental image of my hungover brother downing painkillers and holding an icepack to his head, I agreed to take care of her. I called Trunks to see if he wanted to help out, maybe bring Bra over so the girls could keep each other entertained, but he said that he had "a full afternoon of playing around with volatile and potentially toxic chemicals scheduled." But I figured, hey, still shouldn't be a problem. I can just sit her down with some toys, do my homework, and make sure she doesn't eat a live frog or something, right?

Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the fact that I am my niece's bitch. I'd been working on my art project for all of five minutes—just started sketching out the West City skyline—when she came up to me and insisted that I go watch cartoons with her.

"Pan," I said, "can't you just watch them by yourself?" Yes, I know it's not ideal to just stick a kid in front of a television for a couple of hours, but she already spends so much time either studying (I think it's genetic) or training that I figured that a couple of hours of vegging out probably wouldn't do too much damage.

She stuck out her lower lip and pouted at me. "Pleeeeease?"

Like I stood a chance.

So, there I was, splitting my attention between reading from my calculus textbook (I don't know what the fuck the "Squeeze theorem" is, but it sounds dirty) and watching some kids' cartoon. As far as I could tell, it was about an enchanted monkey named Sun Wukong who was "born from stone" and spends his days learning studying the Tao and learning the secrets of immortality—and seriously, what the hell are kids _watching _these days?—but Pan seemed to be really into it. I was finally making some headway with my calculus homework when she started tugging at my sleeve.

"Uncle Goten," she said, blinking those ENORMOUS black eyes at me, "can I have an ice cream cone?"

"No," I said, "your mom is going to kill me if I spoil your appetite for dinner." Turns out that one of the big differences between being half-Saiyan and a quarter-Saiyan, along with being born without a tail, is the appetite. She has super strength (and god help me _why_ is my dad already training her? She's _three!_), but she eats just a bit more than your average human. And even though Videl might not have a fraction of my strength, she scares the crap out of me.

Hmm, surprisingly intimidating human female martial artist with a bad temper and control issues. Good lord, Gohan might as well have married Mom.

...Ew.

Anyway, the ice cream cone. Like a good, responsible uncle, I said no. Growing girls, I explained, needed _healthy_ foods, not sugary junk like ice cream. Of course, _as I was saying this_, I was walking toward the freezer. I was in the middle of saying "No" for the third time when I handed her the cone, piled high with one scoop of chocolate and two of vanilla. I, honest-to-Dende, do not know how it happened. Maybe I can claim I was possessed!

...yes, it's a pretty lame excuse. But hey, it worked for Vegeta, it can work for me.

Flash forward to about an hour later. Her eyes were drooping shut, and I thought I'd be able to set her down for a nap and finally get some work done. But no, just as I was tucking her into my bed, she looked up at me and asked if I would take a nap with her.

I winced. "I'm not really sleepy, Pan."

Again with the pouting. " Pleeeeease?"

"_No_, Pan." Once more, I started doing exactly what she wanted as the words were leaving my mouth. Within a matter of seconds, I had a half-asleep three year-old curled up against my chest and hugging me in a toddler death-grip. After a few minutes, her hold on me started to go lax and I began moving out of the bed, only to be yanked by the neck faster than a crocodile's jaw. Turns out she wasn't _quite_ asleep yet.

She opened her eyes and started squinting at my face. I looked down at her. "Something wrong?"

"You know you look just like grandpa?"

I laughed at that and nodded. Like I haven't noticed.

"How d'ya get your hair to do that?"

"Just natural, kiddo." Which is kind of true—I cut my hair like this on purpose. I mean, yeah, it spikes naturally, but I keep it this length because—man, this sounds pathetic when I write it out—I really do like looking like my dad. Of all the things Trunks could make fun of me for, he doesn't bother me about this. Probably because I'm the one who's seen all the crazy lengths _he_ went to as a kid to get his father's approval.

I know, between how slowly Saiyans age and the fact that he's spent a grand total of eight years _dead_ (and therefore not aging at all), it will eventually get to the point where we're actually identical. It could be worse.

Pan snuggled into my chest and closed her eyes again. "Grandpa showed me something yesterday."

"Hmm?" I asked. "What did he show you?"

"How he makes his hair go blond and his eyes get all green and he turns into...um...a Super Saiyaman."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. No, none of us will _ever_ let Gohan live down the ridiculous Great Saiyaman costume he used to wear. "Super _Saiyan_, sweetie."

"You've seen it?"

I laughed at her again. "Once or twice, yeah."

"Can you do it too?"

"Uh huh," I nodded.

"Neat." Her voice was muffled by my shirt. "One day," she said around a yawn, "I'm gonna be strong just like you and papa and grandpa." She smiled before snuggling deeper into my chest. "And I'm gonna be a Super Saiyan too."

I waited until she fell asleep and I could slip out of the bed before I answered.

"God, I hope not."


	15. Entry 15

_Monday 12 October_

I didn't get lunch with Trunks today. Not because I was mad at him, or anything like that, but because he has actually reached new peaks of weirdness. Yeah, I didn't think it was possible either.

Rewind to about noon today. I hadn't had the best morning—it turns out another kid in my art class is already doing the urban/rural juxtaposition thing as his project theme, meaning that I have to come up with yet another idea. So I was looking forward to sitting down with Trunks, munching on a very unsatisfying sandwich and a very satisfying energy bar, and generally forgetting about class for a while.

I go to the courtyard, and this is what I see. Trunks. A pigeon. Trunks sitting on a bench. A pigeon standing on the back of the bench. With Trunks. Staring Trunks down. Intensely. While Trunks stares back. With the same level of intensity.

Allow me to reiterate: Trunks. And a lone, solitary, unmoving pigeon. Having a staring contest.

What. The. FUCK.

"Trunks," I started after watching them for a couple of minutes, "what are you—"

"Shh!" he hushed me before addressing the bird. "I know you're up to something." The pigeon stood silently. "And I know _you're_ the one who orchestrated the assault on my car the other day. You're the brains of the operation, aren't you? The ringleader, as it were." It was more of an accusation than the question. The pigeon just kept staring back.

I spun around on one heel and began walking back into the school building. As I left the courtyard, I could hear Trunks say something along the lines of, "You are indeed a worthy opponent."

I made my way back inside and found Nao sitting at one of the tables in the rear corner of the cafeteria. He was grading tests and trying not to get ketchup all over them when I joined him. I don't know why I still expect to be able to eat my lunch in peace at the freak show known as West City High, but I was blissfully oblivious until Ava "asked" if she could join us. By which I mean she sat down next to us and, despite Nao's protests that he had work to do, started chattering at me.

How is she always able to find me? I'd start to believe I'm wearing a tracking device, but I doubt Ava could ever figure out how to operate one of those.

I still don't know why Ava's decided to make _me_ the object of her affections. Before last December, pretty much the only interaction I'd had with her was through Dia. I mean, it began well after Trunks and I had started dating. I was at a party at Dia's house December of last year, watching transfixed as Kato and Dia made out under one of the tables. I'd had no clue that they'd even gotten together, but Trunks said that they'd been seeing each other for the past two months and had just kept it under wraps until, apparently, that day. Then Trunks slipped away to go talk to some of his other classmates, and the next thing I knew, Ava was next to me and chatting me up. She hasn't stopped ever since.

She was in the middle of telling me how _absolutely fantastic_ my eyebrows look now that they're starting to grow back in when Dia came up to us.

"Hey Goten," she said, cutting off Ava's rambling. "Hey, uh, Rao."

Nao looked up from his papers again, frowning. He was probably about ready to give up on getting any work done and head over to the library. "It's Nao."

"Sure, whatever." At that point she turned away from now, pulled out a small red bottle and shoved it in Ava's face. "My hair is starting to bore me. Wanna help me add in some darker red streaks?" Keep in mind that Dia's hair is still bubblegum pink. And has only been that color for a week.

Ava grinned at Dia and said, sure, she'd love to help, before gathering up her things and putting them in back in her bag. Which struck me as kind of weird, because I've _never_ been able to find a way to get rid of Ava. But, like I've said before, I don't understand girls at all, so I just mouthed a "thank you" to Dia as she pulled Ava off toward the girls' bathroom.

"Later, Goten!" Dia called back at us. "Bye, uh, Nuu."

Nao rolled his eyes at me as the girls walked away. "I still don't get how you're friends with her."

"I am _not_ friends with Ava."

"I meant Dia."

I frowned at him. "She's nice once you get to know her."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "She kind of comes off as a bitch though." Then he went back to grading papers.

I stared at Nao while I dug into my lunch. I guess I could see where he was coming from. See, even though we're in the same grade, I really got to know Dia through Trunks. She was nice to me right away, but I guess I never really gave a second thought to the way she acts around people outside her own insular group of friends. And, yeah, I guess West City is like any other high school. I've never paid much attention to it, but I guess there's kind of a wall of separation between the "popular" kids and the rest of them.

Does this mean I'm in the "popular" crowd? Considering how few friends I have at this school, it's a weird thought.

Skip to the end of school today. I walked out to the parking lot to meet Trunks at his car so he could give me ride back to Capsule Corp. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him. Because Trunks was seated on the hood of his car with that same pigeon from lunch, apparently having a very animated conversation. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could see him making a series of broad hand gestures. I might have been imagining it, but I think the bird was nodding in response to what he was saying.

I shook my head, opened up my plane capsule, and decided to just fly home. Because there's no way my house could get stranger than _that_, right?

Again. Really need to learn to stop tempting fate.

I got home at a little past 3:30 and went to my room, determined to actually get my homework done early today. By which I mean I stared at my textbooks for all of two minutes before finding my dad outside and getting him to train with me.

We were sparring near this mountain and he, predictably, got a hell of a shot in. I'm not sure how he did this, but he actually managed to turn my own _ki_ against me and send me flying face-first into, of all things, a pterodactyl nest.

I actually don't see pterodactyls that frequently anymore. So when I just barely managed to avoid smashing all the unhatched eggs into a thousand pieces, I couldn't help remembering the last time I actually had an up-close encounter with a one.

When I was a kid, I had a rather bad habit of playing with any living thing I ran into. Especially reptiles. This wasn't such a problem when it was some harmless little lizard, but I had a special affinity for dinosaurs.

Gohan always gave me a hard time for messing around with wild animals. It's obvious now that he was just concerned about me, but back then, I was just a bratty little kid who was annoyed that big brother was so determined to spoil my fun. When I was about five, I started sneaking off way beyond the parts of the forest I was actually allowed in. It wasn't long before I began playing with an especially friendly baby pterodactyl. The only problem was that, being the stupid kid I was at the time, it never occurred to me that wherever there was a baby dinosaur, there was bound to be an overprotective mommy dinosaur close by. Let's just say I learned it the hard way.

Considering that I wasn't all that strong when I was five, I was probably lucky to get away with no more than a peck on the head. My mom had a fit when I came home bleeding, but I came up with some paper-thin story about how I'd fallen on a rock. Lucky for me she didn't look too closely, she just bandaged it up and scolded me for not being more careful. The scar's barely faded at all over the last eleven years.

I never got around to telling Trunks because, frankly, it was just too embarrassing. (Like I don't embarrass myself in front of him on a daily basis anyway.) And I obviously never told my mom or Gohan the truth, because they would have been absolutely furious with me. So as far as anybody else knows, the scar on my forehead is just another product of my well-established klutziness.

I must have zoned out for a couple of minutes, because my dad came down looking for me. He landed on top of one of the boulders surrounding the nest and knit his eyebrows together.

"Hey," he said, reaching a hand down to help me up. "Something wrong?"

I thought about explaining the pterodactyl story, but shook my head and decided not to bother. It's not really a story worth telling. And it's not like the guy needs me reminding him of events he wasn't even around to see, right? So I told him not to worry about it and got back into a fighting stance.

Once, when we were kids, Trunks told me that sometimes his dad acted like he didn't exist. Can't blame him for feeling that way—up until the whole Buu thing, it seemed like Vegeta and Trunks didn't do much besides training together. Trunks tried not to show it, but I could tell how much it hurt him. Being ignored, that is.

Of course I could sympathize. Because until I was seven, my dad _didn't_ know I existed.

I'm not sure who had it better.


	16. Entry 16

_Tuesday 13 October_

Okay, technically it's already Wednesday, but I'm gonna go ahead and count it as Tuesday. I mean, it's four in the morning, and I fully plan on getting a couple more hours of sleep before getting up for school. Because I just spent the past three hours saran wrapping a house.

How did I get to this point, you ask? Well, it's all thanks to that math test I took last week.

It started this morning (er, yesterday morning), when I got my test back at the beginning of calculus. No shit, I got a 95. Yes, that's out of 100. I screwed up some of the work on the last two problems—everything else was _perfect. _Jiro-the-TA looked stunned when he handed me back my test paper, though I doubt he was half as shocked as I was. It was the best score I've gotten on any math exam since starting high school. Nao quietly asked me across the aisle why I looked like I had just been punched. He quickly got the same expression on his face when I showed him the paper.

"Holy shit," he whispered, grinning at me. "You did better than I did." He showed me his sheet—a very respectable 92. And getting a better math score than Nao? That was _definitely_ a first.

So, yeah, I spent the next fifty minutes in a great mood, thinking of all the various ways I'd have to thank Trunks for helping me study. I was so distracted by the series of wildly inappropriate thoughts that I didn't even notice the bell had rung until everyone else had already started to leave. I was in an equally good (and distracted) mood throughout literature and history.

Then I got to art class. I was just relieved that Ms. Shi was leaving us to our own devices while she meditated on top of her desk. Yes, the incense she was burning made my eyes itch, but as long as she wasn't giving us any more stupid "assignments" that had me holding the pose of, I dunno, a teapot for an hour, I was happy. I was working on some landscapes in my sketchbook when a nasal voice came in through the tinny intercom system.

"Goten Son, please report to the principal's office. Goten Son, principal's office."

I looked up from my sketchbook and asked aloud, "What did I do?" Since the ceiling didn't answer, I grabbed my backpack and walked down toward Mr. Sen's office. When I got there, I saw Sen sitting at his desk while Mr. Mori stood by him, scowling at me.

I glance from my calculus teacher back to the principal. "Uh, is something going on?"

"I'll say," Mr. Mori started, but Mr. Sen raised one hand to cut him off.

"Goten," he said, "Mr. Mori tells me that you got an unusually high score on your latest calculus exam."

"Yeah?" I said, dropping my backpack and sitting in front of Mr. Sen's desk. "What about it?"

"Mr. Mori believes that you may have gotten some...improper assistance with the exam."

I frowned at them for a minute before I realized what Mr. Sen meant. "Wait a second. You think I _cheated_?"

Mr. Mori spoke up again. "How else did you go from being unable to do basic integration to getting the highest grade in the class?"

My jaw dropped. "Because Trunks helped me study!"

Mori rolled his eyes. "The same Trunks Briefs that never showed up to my class?"

I stood up from my chair, staring him down. "The same Trunks Briefs that never got anything less than a hundred on any of your exams, you jerk."

Mr. Sen raised one finger at me. "Sit _down_. And I don't want to hear you insult anyone on my staff again, is that clear?"

I plopped back down into my chair, folding my arms and scowling at the both of them. "You know, most kids don't get in trouble for doing _well_ on a test."

"You're not in trouble, Goten," the principal said. "If you really understand the material now, you should have no problem doing just as well on a private, make-up test."

"So I have to take that stupid test again?"

"Either that," Mori said with a sneer, "or I can just fail you. It's your choice."

I turned my head away from them. "This is so freakin' unfair."

"That's enough," Mr. Sen said. "Your makeup exam has been scheduled for after school tomorrow. You can head back to class now."

"Yeah, just great." I grabbed my backpack and stormed out of the room. It took every ounce of my restraint not to shatter the door when I slammed it shut behind me. I know Mr. Sen is completely oblivious to what goes on in this school, but come _on._ Has he seriously not noticed that Mori is a lousy teacher?

I spent the rest of art class drawing Mr. Mori being torn apart by pterodactyls. Guess I had them on the brain after yesterday. I was putting the finishing touches on Mori's shredded spleen when the bell rang for lunch. I stomped my way out into the courtyard and found Trunks sitting at one of the picnic tables with Kato and Dia.

I walked up to them, and for a moment actually forgot why I was so angry. Because as soon as I approached them I saw, standing on the table next to Trunks, that damn pigeon.

I studied the bird for a few seconds before looking at Trunks. "Isn't that the same pigeon you were staring down yesterday?"

He nodded. "Yes it is."

"Aren't you still mad at him for, uh, arranging the bird poop attack?"

"We've made peace," he said, stroking the top of the bird's head. "Turns out that our similarities draw us together more than our differences separate us. Isn't that right, Lord Featherton?"

I swear upon my life, the bird nodded.

"...Lord Featherton?"

"Dia came up with the name," Trunks said, jutting a thumb at her. "He seemed to like it." The pigeon cooed in agreement.

I shot Dia a look. "You don't think this is weird?"

Dia shook her head vigorously. "I think he's cute." The bird cooed again as Dia ran her finger down his back.

I turned to her boyfriend, the usual voice of reason in their little cadre. "Kato?"

Kato shrugged. "Trunks has done weirder."

I sighed, plopping into the empty stool. "Fair enough."

Trunks turned away from "Lord Featherton" and looked at me. "Something wrong, Chibi? You look upset."

"Yeah," I said, pulling out my lunch. "I got a 95 on my calculus exam."

Trunks grinned at me. "You're upset about that? That's great!"

"Not really. Mr. Mori is convinced I cheated, so he's making me retake the test."

"Wow," Kato said. "That may be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"You're telling me," I said around a bite of my sandwich.

Trunks gaped at us. "After all the work I did!?"

I snorted at him. "Yeah, poor you."

"Well, we're not going to take this!" Trunks dramatically stood up from his bench, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me back into the school building while Dia and Kato just watched.

"Trunks!" I wrenched my arm from his grip. "Where are we going?"

"Teachers' lounge," he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me down the hallway again.

"_Why_ are we going to the teacher's lounge?" Before he answered, we'd arrived at the door.

Without knocking, Trunks threw opened the door to the room. A few members of the school's staff, including Mr. Mori, were sitting at one of the round tables eating their lunches. They all looked up when the door burst open. Trunks shoved me inside before coming in.

"Boys," a female teacher I didn't recognize calmly began, "you really shouldn't be in here."

Trunks slammed the door behind him. I watched in horror as he walked right up to Mr. Mori, pointed one finger at him, and started ranting at him. "Listen here you old windbag. The only reason Goten was messing up his homework is because _you_ couldn't teach a tea kettle how to whistle! I was up until two-thirty last Tuesday because I was stuck doing what's _supposed_ to be _your_ job!"

I stared at him. "Trunks! What do you think you're doing!?" Mr. Mori's right eye was twitching and, even though he hadn't said anything, he was starting to turn red in the face.

Trunks ignored me and continued yelling at Mori. "And you have the _nerve_ to accuse him of cheating? You're not just a lousy teacher, you're an insult to the educational system!" He looked Mori up and down before adding, "And a badly dressed one at that."

My calculus teacher made a few strange choking sounds before suddenly regaining his ability to speak. "Mr. Briefs!" he said, standing from his chair. "You and Mr. Son get down to the principal's office _right now!_ I'm calling your mothers!"

"Fine!" Trunks said. Again, he grabbed my arm, all but threw me out of the room, and dragged me into the hallway.

I grabbed his wrist and made him stop. "You moron!" I said, frowning at him. "Now taking that makeup test is going to be the least of my problems."

He turned to face me. "Chibi, you need to learn to stand up for yourself."

I glared at him. "Shit, at this rate, I'm going to end up suspended before the day is out."

Trunks gave me that condescending look he always does when he thinks I'm being stupid. "You're not going to be in any trouble, Goten. Just trust me."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah, that's worked well so far." So I slumped my way toward down the hall and took a seat on one of the chairs set up outside Mr. Sen's office. A few minutes later, Mr. Mori showed up and told us to wait there as he stomped inside.

About half an hour passed before we were told to come in and take a seat in front of Mr. Sen's desk. He and Mr. Mori silently scowled at us until the door opened again.

And in strode Bulma.

Now, I know Bulma doesn't have super strength. Hell, she isn't even a martial artist like my mom. But that doesn't mean she doesn't scare the hell out of me. So when she walked into the office, dressed in a business suit and carrying a small briefcase, I was more than a little nervous.

Bulma didn't even look at me when she came in. Instead, she stared at Trunks, set down her briefcase, and folded her arms. "Please tell me you didn't replace his lesson plans with pornographic bestiality magazines again."

Trunks pouted. "I didn't do anything!"

"Ms. Briefs," started Mr. Sen, "he burst into the teacher's lounge without permission and began yelling at one of the faculty."

Bulma moved her hands to her hips and frowned at Trunks. "Why would you do something like that?"

Trunks pointed at Mr. Mori. "Because _that_ idiot accused Goten of cheating on his test last week! He was going to make Goten retake it, just because he got a 95."

Mr. Mori interjected, "_Am_ going to."

Bulma looked at me. "Is this true?" I swallowed loudly and nodded. She turned back to Mr. Mori, narrowing her eyes at him. "Trunks helped Goten study for that test for six solid hours. And his math grades have never been less than perfect." She tapped a high heel impatiently against the tile floor. "No thanks to your teaching, the way I remember it."

And just like that, the tables were turned. Mr. Mori looked like he'd been slapped. He began to sputter a reply. "Mrs. Briefs—"

"And now," she cut him off, "you're accusing Goten of _cheating_ and my _son_ of lying?" Her voice grew louder with each word. "All because Goten somehow managed to do well on one of your tests, despite your incompetence as an educator?" I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to keep myself from grinning.

Mori started again. "Mrs. Briefs—"

"That's _Ms._ Briefs, you waste of space!" she yelled, getting a distinctive, familiar twitch in her right eye.

Remember how I described the horror that is a pissed-off Vegeta? Well, that doesn't even _approach_ the sheer intimidation factor of an angry Bulma. What's even more impressive is the fact that she manages to be so menacing without carrying the threat of a superpowered beatdown. Now _that's_ scary.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Mr. Mori looked ready to shit bricks. Can't say I blame him.

"Listen to me, and listen well," Bulma said, moving her face right into Mr. Mori's. "Let me tell you what I'll do if you _ever_ falsely accuse Trunks _or_ Goten of so much as stealing a piece of chalk. I am going to make a very large contribution to the school district—say, on the order of thirty-million zeni—with the sole condition attached that you be demoted to teaching kindergartners how to fingerpaint!"

Have I mentioned that Bulma is a goddess among women? If so, it bears repeating.

"Ms. Briefs," the principal said, trying to calm her. "That really isn't necessary—"

She whirled on the principal. "Don't you tell me what is or isn't necessary. You idiots pulled me out of a _very_ important investor's meeting over complete bullshit!" She looked back at Mr. Mori again. "Now, if you know what's good for you, you are going to write a long and _sincere_ letter of apology to Goten. _And_ have it published in next week's school newspaper. Got it!?"

Overkill? Maybe. But great Kami, I can't think of anything more satisfying than watching Mr. Mori shaking in his loafers the way he was when Bulma finished tearing him a new one.

The principal nodded at Bulma, looking contrite. "I'm sorry for interrupting your day, Ms. Briefs." Then he looked back at me and Trunks. "You boys can get back to class."

"Wow," I said as we left Mr. Sen's office. "Uh, thanks, Bulma."

She grinned at me. "No problem, sweetie. Nice to see some of those old Briefs family brains are finally starting to rub off on you." And with that she walked out of the school building.

I turned to Trunks as Bulma left the school grounds. "Your mom is awesome."

He nodded. "Hell yeah." The he smirked at me. "I _told_ you that you had nothing to worry about." When I reluctantly agreed that, yeah, he was right, he just said, "I'm _always_ right."

I rolled my eyes and flicked him on the forehead. But, well, the guy _did_ get me out of a makeup test. So I thanked him for sticking up for me back there.

"No problem, Chibi." He dropped a kiss on my right cheek. "No one's allowed to give you a hard time but me, remember?"

I laughed. "Right." At which point we looked down at our watches, realized that class had started up again fifteen minutes ago, and parted ways.

I was feeling pretty good by the time I walked into my chemistry class. Even being paired up with Ava again for lab didn't dampen my mood. In any event, you'd think that would be the end of the whole episode, right?

Clearly you don't know Trunks.

I went down to Capsule Corp after school, spent the evening there, finished up some homework and got to bed at around 11. I was in a deep sleep when a hand roughly shook me by the shoulder, waking me up. I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at the intruder, but after a few seconds of peace, he was back.

Finally, I heard Trunks' voice in my ear. "Chibi, wake up."

I glared up at him in the dark. "What the hell?"

"Come on, Goten!" he said in a loud whisper. "We need to get going!"

"Get going where?" I yawned. "What time is it?"

"One a.m. No time to explain!" And he yanked the covers off me, threw me a pair of jeans, and shoved me downstairs and into his car. I had no freakin' idea what was going on, but seeing as I was still half-asleep, I didn't put up much of a fight.

I'd pretty much woken up by the time we reached out destination, which was apparently a small residential neighborhood near the edge of town. You know the type—medium-sized, cookie-cutter houses with perfectly trimmed grass and gaudy plastic flamingos sitting on the lawn. Trunks pulled his car into the large driveway, parking next to a blue pickup truck. In the glow of the streetlamps, I could see Dia, Kato, and Addo all sitting on a stoop in front of one of the houses.

Dia looked up at us. "Oh, you finally made it. What took you so long?"

Trunks jutted a thumb at me. "Sleeping beauty over here didn't want to get out of bed."

I looked from Trunks to the three others on the steps. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on here?"

Dia grinned, standing up from the stoop. "We've decided to teach that asshole Mr. Mori a lesson in manners. Give him a fun surprise in the morning."

If I wasn't totally awake by then, _that_ shocked away what little sleepiness remained. "What kind of surprise?"

"We're going to saran wrap his house. And his car."

I blinked and stared at them. Because, well, how was I supposed to respond to something like that? I turned back to Trunks. "Didn't your mom scare Mori enough?"

"Hell no!" Trunks shook his head. "No one impugns my Chibi's honor and gets away with it!" Trunks triumphantly held up one fist. Kato and Dia mimicked the gesture while Addo just laughed.

I frowned at all four of them. "He's going to know we're behind this."

"Of course he is," Addo said. "But unless he has solid proof—and he won't—it won't do any good accusing us."

I turned my attention to Addo. "What are you even doing here?" He doesn't usually get involved with Trunks' never-ending stream of immature pranks, even if he does get a kick out of the stories later.

Addo shrugged. "Trunks called and said he needed a lookout for this."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "So you came running. In the middle of the night. To saran wrap a teacher's house." I immediately regretted saying that—I mean, it just kind of slipped out. But I'm pretty sure I _know_ why Addo would do it. Because Trunks asked him to.

Even in the dark, I could see Addo glare at me. "I thought it was funny, okay?" And he stomped off, mumbling something about keeping an eye out for oncoming cars.

I shook my head and looked back at Kato and Dia, asking how they planned on pulling this off. Dia explained that Kato had gotten several ladders, a ton of duct tape, and thousands of feet of saran wrap, and loaded them up into a pickup truck.

Considering that Kato drives a sedan, I asked where he'd even gotten a truck. He just shrugged and said, "I know a guy."

Keep in mind. Kato is the _normal_ one.

I pulled Trunks aside. I knew better than to try to talk him out of this—and even I had to admit I enjoyed the idea of making Mr. Mori's life a little more difficult—so I just asked him if it wouldn't have been easier to just fly around and do this himself.

"Of course it would," he agreed. " But it was Dia's idea. And she wanted in on this." He grinned. "Besides, who besides Kato would be able to get over ten thousand feet of Saran wrap on such short notice?"

Rather than admit that he had a point, I changed the subject. "So why is Addo keeping lookout? Couldn't you get _Lord Featherton_ to do it?"

Trunks pointed upward. "He's doing aerial surveillance." I looked up. The pigeon was, indeed, circling above the house.

I looked back at my boyfriend as he walked over to Kato's truck to grab another few rolls of saran wrap. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, Chibi," he said casually. "So, so many things."

At least he admits it.


	17. Entry 17

_Wednesday 14 October_

Love, it turns out, isn't blind. It's just deaf, mute, and possibly brain-damaged.

Let's flash back to last September. You wouldn't think that two people who've known each other for over fifteen years would need to go out on a "first date." But believe it or not, that's how our relationship started. Because for a genius, Trunks can be a real idiot sometimes.

I'm not sure when things started changing between us. Obviously, Trunks knew already that I wasn't into girls. He'd known for a while—I mean, he was bi himself, but more than that, he's my best friend. Can't really hide something like that from someone who knows you inside-out and backwards. Not that I was trying too hard to hide it or anything. It didn't help that Trunks already has no sense of personal space, and is pretty physical with most of his friends. But then, you know, little stuff started happening. Trunks getting uncomfortable when I took off my shirt during training, even though he trained shirtless half the time anyway. His hand lingering just a bit longer than it needed to when he helped me up after knocking me down. My _liking_ it when said hand rested on my arm or shoulder a bit longer than it needed to. You know, the usual.

This is where it gets complicated. I mean, Trunks is _really_ good-looking, and as a hormonal teenage boy, it's not like I hadn't noticed. But it can be pretty hard to separate romantic feelings from friendship. I already knew I loved him—I just wasn't sure in what _way_. So I just kind of decided to wait it out.

Trunks isn't nearly as subtle as he thinks he is. So although I'm as oblivious as all hell—the fact that I didn't realize that Ava was into me until she actively started hitting on me should be proof of that—even I had to notice that Trunks was starting to pretty blatantly check me out. But even though the attraction was pretty obvious by that point, I still didn't say anything.

I know that I didn't have to wait for _him_ to make the first move. But the truth was, I didn't know if he was actually into me, or was just being, well, Trunks.

I should probably pause now to explain something: Trunks is a bit of a slut.

Okay, "slut" probably isn't the right word—he never slept around because he had low self-esteem, or to prove a point, or for revenge, or for any of the other million stupid reasons teenagers have sex. I mean, he _did_ sleep around before we got together, but honestly, he just really enjoys sex. Not that I don't, but I think I have a little more self control in that department (Also, his inexplicable inability to get himself off probably had something to do with it.) To Trunks' credit, he was always upfront about not being interested in a relationship, so you knew what you were getting into with him. And yeah, fourteen sounds young, but seeing as older schoolmates—both male and female—were hitting on him all of five minutes after he started at West City High, it's not a shocker.

(He confessed pretty recently that he'd actually hooked up with Addo a couple of times before we got together. I didn't even pretend to be surprised. I did, however, refrain from pointing out that Addo probably still wants in his pants.)

We continued this awkward teenage half-flirting thing for _months_, and I was about ready to chalk up the odd vibes I was getting to Trunks being his usual pervy self. But then one day after training, I walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and ran into him. And even though he'd seen me naked hundreds of times in the past, he actually turned bright red and quickly looked away. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he shouted, "Stop that!"

I scratched the top of my head with one hand, holding up my towel with the other hand, and asked, "Stop what?"

To which he responded—and I'm not exaggerating—"Stop being sexy right now!"

I could have told him he was being an idiot. Instead, I started grinning like a moron and said, "You think I'm sexy?"

"No _shit,_ Chibi! Now either stop it or go out with me!" I shit you not, that is how Trunks asked me out for the first time.

Anyway. The date. See, neither Trunks nor I had ever really _done_ the dating thing. Trunks usually just skipped right to the sex part, and I just wasn't interested any of the guys at our school. I'm pretty sure that ninety percent of our knowledge of dating rituals came from the bad movies that Bulma occasionally makes us watch. So even though I would have been happy just getting take-out and watching Mr. Satan make an idiot of himself on global satellite television, he made reservations at an upscale restaurant in the middle of town for a Friday night. I'd hoped to keep our plans under wraps, but at dinner the night before, my mom told me that we were supposed to go over to a barbecue at Kame House. When I told her I couldn't, she asked why.

Because I'm almost as bad a liar as my dad is, I spilled. "I, uh, kind of have a date tomorrow." I took a long gulp from my glass of water, hoping that they wouldn't ask any more questions.

No such luck. Because my dad grinned and said—again, not exaggerating—"A date, huh? Who's the lucky guy?"

My eyes bugged out of my head as I choked on my water. "What? I mean, I, uh, what?" Because it's not like I'd _told_ them I was into guys or anything.

"Cover your mouth, Goten!" my mom chastised me. "And your father asked you a perfectly reasonable question."

"Re—reasonable?"

"Yes!" My mom scowled at me, the same way she would when I was five and wouldn't eat my vegetables. "What's the name of this boy you're going out with?"

"Boy?"

My mom's frown deepened. "It _is_ a boy, isn't it? Someone age appropriate?" Like she thought I was going out with some perverted 30-year-old man or something.

"I...yeah...I..." I honestly thought I was going to puke. So finally asked, "You _knew_?"

My dad got this deeply confused expression on his face and said, "That you're going out on a date? You just told us."

"I mean...that I. I'm not. Well." I gulped. "That I like _guys_? And not girls?"

"Oh." My dad shrugged. "Sorry, Goten, I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret." Which, you know, it wasn't exactly, but was I _that_ obvious?

See, I'm not used to my parents being so nonchalant about anything remotely related to the sex thing. That's more the kind of reaction I'd expect from Bulma or Vegeta. For instance, when Trunks was about eight, he asked his mother where babies come from, and she apparently pulled out diagrams and gave him a clinical, _very_ detailed explanation of the mechanisms of impregnation. I, on the other hand, truly thought I was brought in by the stork until I was ten.

Then, of course, thanks to my dad, things got even _more_ awkward. "I _do_ gotta wonder how it would _work._" My dad then proceeded to frown and make a series of unbelievably awkward hand gestures. "Two men, I mean."

"Okay," I said, cutting him off. "This conversation needs to end now."

My mom, unsurprisingly, pressed on. "So who is it?"

"Trunks," I mumbled into my glass. At which point my dad literally fell out of his chair laughing and said something about Bulma owing him a thousand zeni.

Seriously. When I'm more clueless than my dad, that's a problem.

Moving on. The next evening, we went out on this stupid date. It was the whole deal. I mean, dressing nicely (which was pointless, since I ended up having to borrow one of Trunks' shirts because I really didn't have anything appropriate), him picking me up (or trying to, also pointless, since I _got ready at his house_), and making "small talk" over dinner. He asked me about my day; I told him that we went to the same school and he'd already heard me rant about my classes over lunch. He asked me about my parents; I reminded him that he'd just been at my place a couple of days before. He _asked if I had any food allergies_, even though we've probably eaten more meals together than we've had apart.

After about an hour of this stupidity, we got the check, which Trunks, in an attempt at "chivalry," insisted on covering himself (probably for the best, but still. What am I, a girl?). I hoped that Trunks would stop acting like a complete weirdo once we got to the movie theatre, but he had apparently taken movie suggestions from his mother. Which meant that he'd gotten tickets for one of those awful romantic comedies that he usually avoids like the plague. You know the same kind that Bulma usually has to _force_ him to watch.

Thirty minutes into boy-meets-girl-boy-falls-for-girl-but-girl-has-a-douchebag-fiancee-who-turns-out-to-be-a-serial-murderer-rapist, I'd just about had enough. When he _tried_ to slip an arm around my shoulders, I looked at him, rolled my eyes, and walked out of the theater. He came after me, caught up with me in the lobby, and asked what was wrong.

"What's _wrong_?" I threw my hands up into the air. "You're being a moron, that's what's wrong! What _is the point of this_?"

Trunks folded his arms and pouted at me. "It's a first date." At which point he said the single most idiotic thing I've ever heard him say: "We're supposed to be, you know, getting to know each other a little better."

I was too shocked to laugh. "Trunks, I've known you since _literally_ before I can remember. I practically live at your house. And remember that whole fusion dance? The one where we _morphed into one person_? I think this is the maximum level of knowing each other." We stared at each other for a while, ignoring the movie theater employees who were watching us (and probably wondering what the hell kind of kinky sexual position "fusion" is).

Trunks broke the silence by laughing. I don't mean normal chuckles—I mean, laughing harder than I'd ever seen from _anyone_. He literally slid down the wall to the floor, holding his sides while tears streamed down his face. And that kind of laughter, it's contagious. So the next thing I knew, we were both sitting on the dirty carpet in the lobby of the West City Central Mall Cineplex, laughing hysterically. One of the concessions salesmen came up to us and asked if we were intoxicated. Which just made us laugh harder. We laughed until our stomachs hurt and we could barely breathe and both our faces were streaked with tears.

We finally calmed down, went back to his place, and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening making out in his room while some god-awful horror movie played in the background. Things have kind of stayed that way ever since.

Which brings us to this afternoon. I was sitting in "my" room at Capsule Corp, just sketching out some ideas for my art project and quickly rejecting them. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as it's due in three weeks and I haven't even started yet. I was in the middle of a half-assed self-portrait when Bra knocked on my door and came inside.

"Goten!" she started whining at me. "I'm booooored! Can you play with me?"

I sat down my pens and looked up at her. "Bra, I'm kind of busy. Can't you go get Trunks?"

"Trunks says he's working!"

"So am I."

Bra looked at my pile of sketches and scowled at me. "No you aren't! You're _drawing!_" She folded her arms and tilted her chin up. "Drawing isn't work!"

Gotta love the air-tight logic of a four-year-old.

"Yes it is," I explained. "It's for school."

"But Daddy's in the gravity room and Mommy's at work and grandma and grandpa are still on vacation and I'm _bored!_" She stomped one foot. "If Trunks won't play with me then you've _gotta_ play with me!"

I rolled my eyes at her. "How do you figure that?"

She put her hands on her hips and sighed at me, giving me a look that stated very clearly that she thought I was a colossal idiot. "Well, he has to play with me because he's my big brother. And you're his boyfriend. And if you marry him, _you're_ gonna be my big brother too, so _you_ have to play with me!"

Again with the little-girl logic. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Bra, I think sixteen is a little young to be getting engaged."

She started pouting. "Well, can you go get Trunks to stop working for a little while to play with me? _Please?_" And, because Bra has me wrapped around her tiny fingers almost to the same extent that Pan does, I went to Trunks' room.

I came in without knocking. He was flipping through a large book and typing up some text document, and said hi without looking up. I asked what he was up to.

He kept typing. "Making up a list of universities."

I walked up to his desk and looked over his shoulder, taking a peak at the university catalogue. "Why are you looking up schools with top journalism departments? I'm not applying until next year."

Trunks stopped typing for a moment and turned his head to face me. "I'm not looking up universities for _you_, I'm looking up universities for _me_."

My eyebrows shot straight up into my forehead. "Since when are you interested in journalism?"

"I'm not."

"So what gives?"

Trunks shut the catalogue and sighed, giving me the same long-suffering expression Bra'd had when she explained why I was legally obligated to keep her entertained. "Chibi, I want to be a scientist. My family owns the single largest aeronautics and consumer tech company on the planet. It doesn't matter _where_ I study, I'm going to end up working for Capsule Corp. And all the important stuff you learn on the job."

It's true. College is going to be a complete waste of time for Trunks, just like high school has been. So I asked, "Then why bother going to college at all?"

"One of the conditions my lovely mother has attached to my trust fund. I just need to get a degree from _somewhere._"

I'm pretty sure I got the same sappy grin I'd had when Trunks ordered me to 'stop being sexy.' "So you're looking up universities that _I_ would go to?"

Trunks shrugged. "More or less. Assuming you ever graduate high school."

I flicked the back of his head. "What makes you think I want to put up with you for another four years, anyway?"

He looked up from his work and stared at me. I thought for a second that I'd caught him off guard, but then he said, "Because your life would be so pathetically _boring_ if you didn't."

I couldn't help smiling at that. "Yeah." I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "It would."

In other news, the sex-embargo was officially lifted this afternoon. And remind me _never_ to do that again. Nothing good comes from withholding sex—I mean, why punish _myself_ just because Trunks is being an ass?


	18. Entry 18

_Thursday 15 October_

OH MY GOD IT'S FINALLY HAPPENED.

I have had the best day ever. I knew it would come eventually, given the relative statures of our dads, but my imagination could never prepare me for the reality. And the reality, it was _glorious._

So. Lunch today. Fall's starting to wind down, meaning that it's already getting cooler, and Trunks and I are taking advantage of the last few days of halfway decent weather to actually _enjoy_ eating lunch outside. Even though I really should know better by now, I kind of expected just to have a nice, quiet break between classes. But when I walked out into the courtyard at noon today, the first words out of my mouth were: "Trunks, _why in Kami's name_ is there a pigeon wearing a tiny three-corner hat on your shoulder?"

Trunks stood up from his seat and grinned at me. "I am Trunks Briefs, Illustrious Leader of the Pigeons."

"...After sixteen years, I think that is the single strangest thing I've ever heard you say."

Trunks folded his arms. "Do you doubt my authority?" The pigeon cooed in what I think was annoyance.

"You..." I gaped at him for a minute. "You just claimed to be leader of the pigeons!"

Trunks rolled his eyes. "_Illustrious_ leader, Chibi."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. "You've lost it."

"You don't believe me? Pigeons, assemble!" And I looked up to see what had to be thirty pigeons, lined up in military formation.

"What the...how..."

Trunks nodded smugly. "Lord Featherton told them all to defer to my authority. And no one messes with Lord Featherton." Again, the pigeon cooed in agreement. He also nodded, knocking the tiny hat off his head. Trunks leaned down to pick it up and replaced it.

Seriously, where the hell do you even get a pigeon-sized hat?

Lord Featherton cooed something else. I'm not sure what he, er, "said," but the next thing I knew, half of the assembled pigeons were in the air and diving toward me. And since I'm not supposed to use my powers in public—and I really don't want to spend the afternoon cleaning up roasted bird carcasses—I dove under the picnic table.

I started yelling at Trunks to get those damn flying rats away from me. He said something I couldn't hear to Lord Featherton (I'm not sure, but I think Trunks also threw in a few random coos). Anyway, whatever he said, it worked, and he reached down to help me up as I spat out a few errant feathers. Which brings us to what made today so spectacular.

See, when Trunks helped me up, I ended up standing nose-to-nose with him. And I realized that the tip of my nose seemed about half an inch higher than his. At which point I dragged him to the bathroom, made him stand up straight, and confirmed my suspicions.

I am, at last, taller than him. I'm _taller than Trunks!_ Yes, after sixteen long years, I, Son Goten, am finally taller than that self-absorbed lunatic.

"Chibi" that, you bird-drugging jerk!

My name is Son Goten, and I am taller than my boyfriend. Oh, life is good.


	19. Entry 19

_Friday 16 October_

Spent the better part of last night grinning wildly over the fact that I am taller than Trunks. He told me at lunch today to "grow up." I told him I didn't _need_ to grow anymore. He made an unflattering comment about my, er, manly assets.

You win this round, Briefs.

Anyway, ran into him chatting with Addo in the parking lot after school. The pigeon was, of course, hanging out on his shoulder. And, since it was misting outside, wearing a tiny yellow rain cap. (Trunks explained that he's been borrowing some of the hats from his sister's dolls. He has sworn me to secrecy.) I was just going to pop open my plane capsule and fly straight home when I heard Addo say something like, "I still can't believe you got Oasis."

I put my place capsule back in my jacket pocket and joined them. "Oasis?"

Addo raised an eyebrow. "You know, the club?" Which of course I knew—it's one of the most (in)famous clubs in West City. Crazy upscale, amazing sound system, three floors (all of which are packed on weekends), and probably the strictest set of bouncers in the city. Dia once tried to get in with a fake ID, and ended up spending half the night in a jail cell next to a very large woman name Burda.

She . . . doesn't like to talk about it.

I turned to Trunks. "What about Oasis?"

"Party tomorrow," he said. "The big one-eight, remember?"

"I thought you rented out the hall of the West City Grand."

"Oh, shit, I thought I told you." Trunks smacked the side of his head. "We changed the venue. Dia's idea. Sent out the new invites on Monday."

"How? You have to be at least eighteen to get into that club."

"Not tomorrow! I rented out the whole top floor."

I stared at him for a full minute. "You got Oasis to close up their top floor on a Saturday night? Great Kami, how much did you pay them?"

Addo and Trunks looked at each other. "Believe me," Trunks said with a grimace, "you don't want to know."

Addo asked if there was anything he could do to help with last-minute party prep. I held back a laugh at the mental image of what Addo's idea of decorating would look like. I could just imagine him decking the whole club out with glitter and bright purple streamers and giving everyone a pink feather boa. Which, admittedly, would make for some pretty funny pictures.

Trunks shook his head and said that he didn't need any help with the party, but that Addo _could_ do him a huge favor.

"Sure. What's that?"

Trunks gently scratched his pigeon's neck, right below the yellow hat. "It's starting to get chillier outside. So unless I take him home soon, Lord Featherton might end up flying south for the winter." Lord Featherton cooed and nodded. Trunks went on, "But I won't be able to bring him home until I convince my mother that he isn't going to be a health hazard. Seeing as Goten's mom isn't much of an animal lover, any chance I can get you to watch him for a few days?"

"Uh," Addo winced a little. "Pigeons are...dirty..."

Trunks looked aghast. "Lord Featherton isn't!" The pigeon narrowed its eyes at Addo and cooed angrily.

Seriously. Lord Featherton is _way_ too smart for a pigeon. It's starting to worry me.

Addo rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't have a cage."

"You're smart. Improvise." Addo looked like he wanted to say no, but Trunks cut him off. "Come on, Addo. Please?" Then he shot Addo his patented brilliant grin.

It's times like this that make me wonder if Trunks doesn't actually know about Addo's crush.

"Fine," Addo sighed. He reached out his arm and let the pigeon hop on, though he didn't look too happy about it. For that matter, neither did Lord Featherton.

"Great!" Trunks beamed. Then he asked if I was coming to his house after school today.

"Naw," I said, "I probably shouldn't. Considering I haven't been back to Mount Paozu since I left for school Tuesday morning."

"What?" Trunks looked shocked. "No awesome midnight birthday sex?" I told him that, first off, I need to catch up on sleep (especially after being out all night vandalizing a teacher's home on Wednesday), and second, that he technically didn't turn eighteen until 4 pm.

Addo looked at us both like we were nuts. "You know what _time_ he was born?"

"You know a guy for sixteen years, there isn't a ton you _don't_ know about him."

Addo shrugged. "Fair enough." He kept his right arm extended, apparently trying to keep Lord Featherton as far away from him as possible. Trunks sighed and pouted at me before saying something about spending the afternoon playing around with some chemical compounds in his lab.

"Compounds?" I asked. "What are you working on?"

"As far as I can tell, it's going to turn out to be either a very-strong hair gel or a hallucinogen. Possibly both."

I folded my arms at him. "You need to be careful with that shit." It certainly wouldn't be the first time one of Trunks' experiments has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Eyebrows aside.

"Yeah, whatever," he said with a dismissive hand-wave. "I'll see you tomorrow." And he popped into his car, as me, Addo, and a very upset Lord Featherton parted ways.

I flew home, and I'd barely walked into my house before my mother came up to my and started demanding to know where I'd been. I told her the commute was tough so I'd just been crashing at Capsule Corp—you know, like I _always_ do.

She was less than pleased. "Would it _kill_ you to call?"

I shrugged and tried to stay non-confrontational. "I thought you'd figure out I was at Capsule Corp."

"You should still tell us! We don't know what could have happened to you!" I rolled my eyes and said that unless some blubbery pink demon had been called forth from the Earth's core to eradicate mankind—again—there wasn't much that _could_ have happened to me. Amazingly, my explanation didn't calm her down any.

She folded her arms and scowled at me. "What has been keeping you so busy that you haven't had the time to call?"

I paused, wondering how I should answer the question. I decided the best course of action was just to be honest. "Bulma traumatized my jerk of a calculus teacher, Dia and Kato shouldn't be allowed near saran wrap, and I am apparently dating the Illustrious Leader of the Pigeons. Who is now shorter than me."

". . . Wait, what?" Understandable reaction—and at least it left her more confused than pissed off. "Goten," she continued, "I like Trunks, but sometimes I wonder if that boy isn't a bad influence."

I laughed. "You and me both."

"And what was that about your calculus teacher?" She folded her arms again, apparently just processing what I'd said. "Didn't you have a test last week?"

"Yeah," I said. When she demanded to see it, I set down my backpack and started digging around the mass of papers that was shoved under my textbooks. I finally pulled it out from under a stack of unflattering drawings of Mr. Mori.

She took the crumpled up papers and unfolded them. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her skull. "You got a 95!"

I all but pouted. "You don't have to sound so _surprised._"

"I _knew_ you could do it if only you studied!" Next thing I knew, she was crushing me in a hug—my mom may be human, but she has a hell of a grip. "Sweetie, I'm so _proud _of you!"

"Uh...thanks?" Because of all the things I'm used to hearing her shriek in my ear, that is _not_ one of them.

Not gonna lie. It was kinda nice.

"So," I said, worming my way out of her death-grip, "where's Dad?"

"Oh, this is wonderful!" my mom kept gushing. "If you keep this up, you might just get a scholarship after all!"

"Never mind," I said. "I'll find him myself." Because I know better than to interrupt one of my mother's (rare) good moods.

I spent a good ten minutes outside looking for him before I remembered that I could sense energy. I'd figured that my dad would be training, but when I sought out his _ki_ signature, it wasn't at all elevated. I finally found him sitting by the lake behind the woods, holding a wooden rod over the water.

Guess we're having fish for dinner tonight.

I don't understand the appeal of fishing. It honestly strikes me as one of the single most boring ways to spend an afternoon—especially a chilly, overcast afternoon. So I can't tell what exactly I was thinking when I asked if he wouldn't mind me joining him.

"Thought you'd never ask." And he handed me a second fishing rod, which he'd apparently had on standby.

What can I say? The man knows me.


	20. Entry 20

_Saturday 17 October_

Top ten reasons my boyfriend is an asshole:

_10._

He's not only a mad scientist, but an _unbelievably_ irresponsible one. See, today (well, technically yesterday, seeing as it's already past midnight) was Trunks' eighteenth birthday. He'd asked me to swing by early in the afternoon, before the party—presumably in anticipation of birthday sex—so I got to West City at about three. I came in through the back, and when I didn't find him in his room, I went downstairs to the lab.

There he was, sitting on the floor leaning against one of the cabinets, his goggles askew, his hair a mess, a ridiculous grin on his face. High as a fucking kite. He was babbling on about the tiny pink dragons that he insisted were multiplying in his lab. Because apparently those volatile compounds he'd concocted really _were_ hallucinogenic.

"Aw, damnit," I said, kneeling down to his eye level. "What did you do?"

He tilted his head to the other side and grinned wider. And he said in this weirdly high-pitched, drawling voice, "I _scienced!_"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Science isn't a verb, Trunks."

He leaned forward, smacking his forehead into my chest, which was pretty uncomfortable seeing as he was still wearing his lab goggles. "Verb isn't a verb. Veeeerrrrrrbbbbb. You verber."

I sighed and stood up, letting him fall to the floor. "I'll be upstairs when you decide to come back down to earth."

Trunks suddenly looked up and grasped my hand from his spot on the floor. "I didn't get high, Chibi," he said gravely. "Earth got _loooow._" And because I was afraid what the idiot might do if I left him there, I dragged him up to his room to sober up.

_9._

About two hours later, when Trunks was actually coherent enough to carry on a conversation, he proceeded to act like a jerk. He was chugging the coffee I'd gotten for him from downstairs and—I couldn't make this up—he was _annoyed_ with me for interrupting his experiment. I asked how sampling hallucinogenic hair gel was an experiment. He just said I didn't understand science.

I told him at least I understood that "science" wasn't a verb.

_8._

He wasn't receptive when I told him that he really needs to be more careful in the lab. He told me not to treat him like a baby, stating very pointedly that he was in fact older than me. I told him I would treat him like a baby if he _acted _like one.

So he said: "Chibi, the _last thing_ I need is you looking over my shoulder twenty-four hours a day."

I didn't bother reminding him that _he_ was the one who'd insisted that I come over. And because I knew I'd end up saying something I'd probably regret, I told him to get me from my room when we were ready to go to the club.

_7._

Trunks is a lush. We got to Oasis at 8:15. By 8:30, he was definitely halfway to trashed.

I should probably describe the setup of the party at this point. Oasis is one of the nicest clubs in the city, and their top floor is basically a standing-room-only concert venue. Trunks and Dia had decided to go with live music after all, so there was a local band on the main stage—shirtless drummer, of course, included.

Have to admit, Dia and Trunks did good. He _was_ pretty hot.

Anyway. Trunks must have invited the vast majority of both the junior and senior classes at our school, because even with the large floor space, it ended up pretty crowded. The lights were dimmed, the band was loud, and our classmates were all bumping into one another and trying to get a look at the lead singer's ass. And in the back, of course, was an open bar run by three bartenders. Which Trunks took immediate advantage of.

I suggested that he slow down so that we don't end up with a repeat of _my_ last birthday. He told me I should get off his back and leave him alone. So I did.

_6._

Despite the fact that _he_ was the one who wanted space, Trunks doesn't actually understand the concept of leaving one another alone. See, around this time I managed to find Nao. I went to the bar to grab a soda and pulled him aside, glad to see someone I actually _knew_ among the sea of 400-some-off vaguely familiar teenage faces. We were trying to have a conversation over the loud band when Trunks decided to come over and harass Nao.

Drunk Trunks has even less of a sense of personal space than Normal (and I use that term _very_ loosely) Trunks. So he wrapped an arm around Nao's shoulder, leaned in toward him, and asked why he was being such a wallflower.

Nao's right eye visibly began twitching. "I'm not—"

"You _aren't!_" Trunks slurred out, cutting him off. "You aren't partying. That's unacceptable!"

"Trunks," I tried to cut in, "why don't you leave—"

"Because, Chibi." He didn't seem to notice Nao's attempts to shove his arm off his shoulders. "Nao here needs to be less asocial. Maybe chat up a girl or two every once in a while."

Nao gave me a pleading look, silently begging me to get my drunken boyfriend away from him. I started rubbing my temples, trying to stave off the headache that was suddenly settling in. "Not everyone is as obsessed with sex as you are."

"Nope, just the honest ones." Then he waved over Dia. Considering how much shorter she is than most of our classmates, I'm not sure how she managed to see Trunks' gesture, but she did. So she hopped over, sporting bright blue hair and a brand new nose ring. Because having seven piercings in each ear just wasn't enough.

Dia grinned at us and shouted over the speakers, "Hi Lao!"

Nao finally managed to shove Trunks away. "It's Nao."

"Whatever," she grinned. And at Trunks suggestion, she dragged him off to introduce him to some of her girlfriends.

I saw Nao disappear into the crowd, looking thoroughly unamused. By the time I turned back to Trunks to ask what he was thinking, he'd already vanished.

_5._

He invited Ava.

Okay, to be fair, I think the main reason he invited Ava is because she's such good friends with Dia. And yes, I already knew from the guest list they made up last week that she was going to be there. But damnit, he took away my Nao buffer!

_4._

He didn't help me get rid of Ava. Again, to be fair, I'm not sure he saw that she'd cornered me—it was difficult to tell much of what was going on in the crowd. It's kind of amazing Ava managed to find me in the first place.

After a few minutes of pretending I could hear her over the music, Dia showed up again. She leaned up to Ava and said something I couldn't hear. Whatever Dia said, it worked; within seconds, Ava was shoving her way up toward the main stage with Dia. I was pretty grateful—until I realized that Dia had abandoned Nao to a group of single, ditzy, popular girls.

_3._

I found Nao all but hiding in the rear corner of the club, over by the bar. It's possible that Trunks had a point—maybe Nao _is_ a little asocial. Still, I really don't think throwing him to the lions—er, lionesses—was the best way to handle him. Apparently he agreed, because by the time I made it back to where he was standing, he was glowering at the room in general and chugging a beer. Keep in mind, I'm not sure I've ever seen him drink before.

I asked if he'd had fun with Dia's friends. He ground out something about how Mela had asked him out three times and Laddi had drunkenly grabbed his ass. I was chuckling at the thought of Nao being cornered by a bunch of wasted teenage girls when he pointed out Trunks in the crowd. My boyfriend was, of course, obviously and shamelessly flirting with several girls and a few guys. Yes, including Addo.

At which point I may or may not have taken the rest of Nao's beer.

_2._

I finally got Trunks' drunken ass to a taxi at around 1 a.m., just as pretty much everyone had filtered out. He tried to start nuzzling against me as soon as we got into the cab, but I was _not_ in the mood.

"No." I shoved him off me and sat him up straight. "You do _not_ get to spend the whole night being a jerk, hitting on anything with a pulse, and then act all affectionate with me."

He squinted at me, looking like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss me or pass out. Which he probably wasn't, now that I think about it. "I lied earlier."

"Huh?"

"About how you should get off my back. I lied." He drunkenly put his head on my shoulder and wrapped an arm around my waist, completely oblivious to the now very uncomfortable cab driver who was trying not to stare at us in his rear-view mirror.

"You seemed to be having a good enough time." It probably came out more bitter than I'd wanted.

"Wasn't." He held me tighter. "Those girls are ditzes. Was bored as hell without you."

"Then why did you tell me to leave you alone and keep vanishing all evening?"

"Got mad, 'm stupid," he mumbled into my shoulder. And then he pulled this one out: "You're the best thing in my life right now."

Which brings us to reason number:

_1._

My boyfriend is an asshole, because no matter what he does, no matter how he goes _out of his way_ to piss me off, I just can't stay mad at him. And doesn't he know it.


	21. Entry 21

_Sunday 18 October_

I managed to sleep in this morning—didn't get up until noon. Which isn't too surprising, when you consider the fact that I was up until 5. Trunks had pretty much sobered up by the time I finished writing up my last journal entry, so I was about to go to sleep when I was kidnapped for some late night birthday sex and a series of bad movies. It was fun and all, but by the end of the night I was too wiped to do much else but pass out in Trunks' bed.

What _was_ surprising, though, was the fact that Trunks wasn't in bed by the time I got up. He's almost never awake before I am. I assumed he'd be in the kitchen, so that was the first place I went. No, Trunks wasn't in there, but Vegeta and Bra were. They were both sitting at the kitchen table—Bra was staring intently at a glass of orange juice, while Vegeta had his forehead pressed against the table.

Against my better judgment, I asked what was wrong. Vegeta looked up at me, let out a string of very creative curses, then let his head fall back down at the table. I turned to Bra and asked what had happened. She said she didn't know—"I just asked daddy about the funny tasting orange juice you gave me." She grinned. "It made my tummy feel all warm and fuzzy!"

Apparently, thanks to me, Trunks, and a poorly timed telemarketer call, Bra is already an alcoholic-in-training. Oops.

Vegeta swore again, this time grumbling into his coffee cup. (I know Bulma and Vegeta are both addicted to the stuff—and Trunks is getting there—but I still think coffee tastes like chalk.) I ran out of the kitchen and down to the next place Trunks was likely to be, the lab. And, sure enough, there he was, messing around with several bubbling test tubes, boiling over with potentially deadly chemicals.

I coughed, waving my hand to blow away some of the chemical smoke that was filling the room. "That doesn't look safe."

Trunks didn't look up at me as he poured the contents of one of the tubes into a larger flask. "Probably isn't."

"Shouldn't you be wearing a mask or something?"

He shook his head as he grabbed another tube, one filled with neon green liquid. "Don't worry about it."

I frowned and coughed into my sleeve. His constant refusal to take any real safety precautions beyond wearing goggles is getting pretty old. "Just don't sample the stuff this time, okay?"

He set down the flask and pulled up his goggles to stare at me. "Chibi," he said, in that tone he always uses when he thinks I'm being an idiot, "this is in the name of _science_!"

"Fine." I turned around and started walking out of the lab. "Don't blame me if you get your stupid ass killed."

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"You just got down here!"

"And I'm leaving."

I heard a clang behind me and turned to see that he'd set his large metal tongs down, and had his arms folded. "Chibi!"

I glared at him. "Trunks, my idea of a fun afternoon is _not_ helping you in your lab while you come up with something that will drug you, poison you, or cause all your hair to fall out." So, without waiting for him to respond, I went back upstairs.

As I passed by the kitchen, I saw that Vegeta had left, but Bra was still frowning at her orange juice. I popped my head in, told her Trunks had been stealing her doll hats for his new pigeon friend/partner-in-crime, and watched as she leapt out of her chair and ran upstairs to tattle to her father.

I was on my way out the door when I ran into Bulma. She asked if I was heading back to Mount Paozu, and when I said I was, she asked if I wouldn't mind taking a couple of boxes of her energy bars with me and dropping a case off at Gohan's. And even though I kind of didn't want to, well, I didn't really have a good reason to say no. So I agreed.

I popped open my plane capsule and made the hour-long flight home, very carefully avoiding any pigeons that made their way into my flight path. I landed on Gohan's front lawn, found the door unlocked, and when no one answered my knocking, made my way inside.

"Videl? Gohan?" No answer. "Hey, anybody home?" I walked through the living room toward the back, carrying the crate in one arm. Sure enough, he was in his study, surrounded by stacks of books and messy piles of paper. I poked my head in through the door, but didn't step inside. "Hey, Gohan?"

Gohan startled up in his chair, knocking over a couple of stacks of paper in surprise. He looked up toward me. "Goten!" He shoved his glasses up his nose and stood. "Hey, I feel like I haven't seen you all month. How've you been?"

I laughed as I set the box down in the hallway. "I saw you last week, dork. Remember your party?"

Gohan got a little red as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh. Yeah. That night's a little...fuzzy." He pulled off his glasses and started rubbing the bridge of his nose. (Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I got that particular habit from my brother.) "I guess I inherited Dad's embarrassingly low alcohol tolerance." His face turned redder. It's weird, you know, remembering that the guy's only 26. He's got a three-year-old and a doctorate, and he's always acted older than he is. So it's funny, seeing him actually act like someone who's in his mid-20's, not his 30's.

"Goten? Did you hear me?" I shook my head and looked back up at Gohan. I guess I'd zoned out, since I didn't remember stepping into his den.

"Uh, no, actually," I said. "What was that?"

"I asked how things are going. You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, you know. Just came by to drop off a case of those energy bars Bulma cooked up." I shrugged. "You look busy."

"Just prepping for a job interview I've got in a couple of days. Videl's up in North City all week for work, took Pan with her, so it's actually pretty quiet here."

"Uh." I looked back toward the door of his study. "Well, uh, I should probably get going anyway. Homework, training, got that big art project due in a couple of weeks. You know."

"Oh." He frowned. "Right. I'll catch you later, then."

"Yeah, uh, not like Trunks let me get any work done yesterday—" I cut myself off, realizing it was probably best if I just stopped explaining. "Yeah. Later." And I got out of there as quickly as I could, at least without _looking_ like I was trying to get out of there as quickly as I could.

I wasn't trying to be a jerk. Really. It's just, I'm never quite sure what to say to Gohan anymore.

See, my brother and I used to be...well, close. Like, really close. Like, closer-than-normal-brothers close. That started to change around when I turned eight. I mean, it made sense. He'd finally started high school, gotten away from our isolated little house. Hell, since _I_ started high school, it seems like I'm barely at home at all anymore. But it wasn't just that. Until my dad came back, Gohan basically took on dad-duties along with older-brother duties.

But then my dad made his grand entrance, which, along with everything else, freed up Gohan to stop acting like such an adult and start acting like a teenager. And, you know, make up for time he spent being kind of fucked up—and pretending he wasn't kind of fucked up—by the first nine years of his life. Which of course was a good thing, but it meant that I saw a lot less of my brother. So when I'd be out training with my dad, he'd be studying. When I was over at Trunks' place, he'd be on a date with Videl.

Besides that, it became increasingly obvious that even though he's still a lot stronger than me, and even though he'd be willing to step up when needed, he's not really a fighter. And yeah, I've heard stories about how he had a bad habit of getting kidnapped as a kid, snuck out to train on a regular basis, and even ran away to another planet when he was five—which I'm still not sure I believe, it's freaking _Gohan_—the truth is that at any given moment, he'd probably rather be studying than training. So we've had less and less in common over the years.

And then I got old enough for my mother to start comparing us, something that had been put off by the huge age gap. Again, not that I'm bitter. Point is, it's not that I don't like him or something, but it's been harder and harder to find any common ground with my brother lately. So while it's okay when Videl and Pan are around, I'm never quite sure how to handle Gohan when it's just the two of us. Which sounds kind of pathetic when I write it out, actually.

So that's my weekend. A shitshow of a birthday party, a passive-aggressive half-fight with my boyfriend, and a casual reminder of how far I've drifted from someone who's right next door. Par for the course, I guess.


	22. Entry 22

_Monday 19 October_

Today was weird. Not Trunks-drugging-then-adopting-a-pigeon weird. Not getting-my-eyebrows-blasted-off weird. Just...uncomfortable weird.

It started right after school today, when Trunks and I were heading outside. The plan was to fly straight back to Mount Paozu from school—we hadn't trained outside for a while, and Trunks wanted to take advantage of the weather before it really starts to get awful. Which was fine by me—Ms. Shi made us spend the entire class trying to meditate while she played sitar music (badly), which was somehow supposed to help us come up with "inspiration" for our projects. She didn't stop burning incense until one of the kids started having an asthma attack. Even then, it was a good two minutes before she realized that his furious wheezing was _not_, in fact, the "expulsion of uncreative negative energy" from his body.

Point is, after that lovely reminder of what a freakshow my high school is, punching the living daylights out of my best friend sounded like an ideal way to spend an afternoon. We were about to walk out the door when Addo stalked up, looking frazzled and hoisting his backpack on one shoulder.

"Trunks!" he called out as he caught up with us. "Trunks, your bird hates me."

Trunks rolled his eyes. "He does not. Lord Featherton doesn't hate anyone." In response to which Addo held out his arm, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and revealed several angry red claw marks all over his skin.

I winced. "What the hell happened?"

"I was just trying to feed him and the little psycho attacked me!"

Trunks tried to hold back a laugh—which struck me as kind of a shitty thing to do. I mean, Addo _was_ doing him a favor. "Look," he said, "I'm sure he'll warm up to you. He's probably just antsy about being in an unfamiliar environment, you know?"

Addo frowned. "Can't I swing by my house and bring him over to your place now?"

"Actually, we're heading over to Goten's place."

Addo knows that I live in the middle of nowhere, so he raised an eyebrow at us. "What? Why?"

Trunks replied honestly. "Just getting in some training before it gets too cold outside." He learned a long time ago that the best way to keep a secret is to let out as much of the truth as possible. Whereas Gohan tried to hide _everything_ in high school—and failed miserably—Trunks knows just how much information to let slip. So while obviously no one knows how strong he really is, or that he's half-alien, it's no secret that we've both been practicing martial arts for years. Which is probably wise, considering that it wouldn't be difficult to look up the fact that we were both in the Global Martial Arts Tournament almost ten years ago.

Besides, it's a good explanation for how crazy muscular we both are. Apparently most teenage boys—especially skinny ones—don't look like us. In any event, we're straddling a fine line.

Trunks looked back down at Addo's mutilated left arm. "Look, just bring Lord Featherton by later tonight."

Addo sighed. "I can't. Got a date."

I spoke up. "On a Monday?"

Addo nodded. "I'm already booked up Thursday and all weekend, and Dia's party is Friday."

"Dia's party?"

Trunks turned to me. "Oh yeah. Friday at nine. We're going." Note that it wasn't a question, more of an order. He looked back at Addo. "So who's the guy?"

"Ren." Now, I don't know who Ren is, but Trunks obviously does. Judging from the look on his face, he didn't approve.

"Ren's an idiot."

"Just the way I like 'em. Pretty and dumb. It's like, yes sweetie, shut up and bite the pillow."

I couldn't help myself, so I said, "I'm having a hard time imagining _you_ doing the pinning."

Addo's jaw dropped. "Hey!"

Trunks laughed. "I'm actually with Goten on this one."

"Trunks!"

"What?" At which point Trunks very blatantly craned his head down and smacked Addo on the ass. "I just mean your ass is _way_ too nice to be wasted on top."

Addo froze, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh..." He trailed off, sounding very flustered. "I should, uh, go. Don't want your pigeon to hate me because I forgot to feed it. Or something." And he turned around and walked very quickly out of the school building.

My oblivious jackass of a boyfriend stared after him. "Did I say something?"

I felt that signature pounding start up behind my eyes. I think I'm going to begin referring to those as 'Trunks Headaches.' "Seriously?"

"What?" he said innocently. "He has a nice butt."

I sighed and decided to drop it. If the idiot didn't see what was going on with Addo, I sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to explain it to him. So just walked outside, let Trunks open up the plane capsule he'd brought with him, and stared out the window until we got back to my house.

We both decided it would probably be best not to go inside my house until after we'd finished sparring, if only to avoid a lecture from my mother about how school should take priority, etc. So we set our backpacks down by a tree, Trunks zipped up his capsulized plane into the front pocket, and we went out to the clearing we've always used to train. After making Trunks shoo away a few wandering pterodactyls and snakes (and ignoring the thoroughly confused look he gave me when I refused to help), we both got into classic stance and started going at it.

This is where the afternoon got weird. When we train in the gravity room, Trunks is usually more than a match for me. Lately, we haven't had a round that lasted less than half an hour, and he beats me more often than not. But today, we must have been fighting for less than ten minutes when Trunks went down, and hard. He shook me off when I tried to help him up, and we started again. Same thing happened.

I stared at Trunks as I landed next to him and asked if he was okay. He glared in response and said he was fine. He backed away and started powering up—it took me a little while to realize that he was transforming. Which was also weird; we almost _never_ use our Super Saiyan forms for routine sparring.

He slipped back into his stance and narrowed his eyes at me. "Up for round three?"

"Yeah, I guess." I powered up to match him before coming at him. I think you can see where this is going.

I'm used to assuming that Trunks is holding back. I mean, he always had to hold back when we were kids. But today, it was obvious that he was putting just as much into our matches as I was, maybe even more. So he was _not_ happy when I beat him, roundly, for the third time.

"Fuck!" he said, brushing the dirt off of his pants as he slowly stood up. "This is getting ridiculous."

I touched down next to him. "Well, it's not like I've never beaten you in a match before."

He glowered at me. "Not three times in a row."

I honestly think it's just because he's been spending so little time outside lately. Pretty much all the training he does these days is in the gravity room at his house—right now, he's not as used to these outdoor settings as I am. When I said as much, he shot me a dirty look.

"Stop making excuses for me, Chibi. Let's get going again."

So, for the third time in less than an hour, we slipped into our opening stances. He kicked; I dodged. I punched; he narrowly evaded it. I elbowed him in the stomach. He took a second to catch his breath and returned my blow, hurling me sideways. When I rebounded against a boulder, I saw that he had sent a _ki_ blast toward me. Again, that is _not_ something we typically do when training. I barely managed to dive out of the way and, acting purely on instinct, launched my own energy blast up in his direction.

By the time the dust cleared, I couldn't see where Trunks had gone. I launched myself back into the air to try and seek him out. It didn't take long for me to see that he'd landed at the edge of the clearing, was leaning against a tree, and his hair was no longer blond.

And then I caught a glimpse of his right shoulder. Even from as high up as I was, I could see how torn up it was.

"Oh, shit." I powered down and rushed toward him. "Trunks, I'm so sorry. Come on, let's get you inside and clean that up, okay?" I put a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

He swatted my hand away. "I'm fine."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Really? Because unless pigeons have started shitting red paint, I'm pretty sure that's your blood."

He all but growled out his next words. "I said I'm _fine_."

I wasn't sure whether to be more worried or pissed off. "You're _hurt_, you idiot."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not."

See, this is what I refer to as a "Vegeta moment." Trunks definitely gets them on occasions. Like times when he loses his normally cool temper and ends up, say, denting a locker with his fist or busting a hole straight through his bedroom wall. Or moments like this, when Trunks does something that's spurred on by equal parts pride and stupidity. I mean, training accidents _happen_. But Kami forbid Trunks ever admit to the slightest weakness.

Since appealing to his common sense (ha!) wasn't working, I tried appealing to his vanity. "Look, at the very least, you need to get that cleaned and bandaged up so there's less chance of it scarring."

Again with the denial, "It won't scar."

I tapped my forehead, over the spot where I got pecked by that pterodactyl back when I was a kid. "I think I know a thing or two about scars, Trunks. Come on, let's get you inside and clean you up."

He rolled his eyes at me and started walking over to where he'd put his backpack. "If we're not going to spar," he said with his back turned to me, "I might as well head home."

"You're insane." I walked up after him. "It's an hour's flight to West City. You could lose a _lot_ of blood on the way home."

"I'll be fine." He pulled the capsule out of his backpack.

I felt another headache start to come on. "Will you _at least_ call me when you get back?"

He scoffed. "Why?"

I flicked him hard on the forehead. "So I know you're okay, dumbshit!" He didn't answer me as he popped open his plane and climbed in.

I sat down on the ground and watched as he took off. Because as reckless as Trunks is, I still mustered the will to be surprised at him. I mean, for fuck's sake. I know that Trunks is pretty blasé about some things—well, okay, _most _things—but couldn't he make the effort to care about his own _safety? _

Or to care about worrying me?

Fuck.


	23. Entry 23

_Tuesday 20 October_

I don't know what Trunks' problem is, but he's being a complete dick lately. And it is starting to get really fucking old.

As I probably should have expected, Trunks did _not_ call when he got back to Capsule Corp last night. So, naturally, I was pissed as all hell when I got up this morning. Of course, then I got worried, then pissed off again, and kept cycling through between anger and concern until I swallowed my pride and sent the bastard a quick text message. He replied with: "c u in scool"—like he couldn't even be bothered with proper spelling. So I fumed my way to school, barely made it into calculus on time, and plopped down next to Nao.

Ever since Bulma damn near made him cry last week, Mr. Mori has been pretty much ignoring me in class. He didn't pay any mind when I slid into my chair as the bell rang, and immediately starting blathering on about something called the "mean value theorem." So when Nao passed me a quick note asking what was wrong, I didn't hesitate to write back. The transcript of the note looked something like this:

_-What's wrong? You look pissed.__  
-That obvious, huh? I just had a fight with Trunks yesterday.__  
-Again?  
-What do you mean, "Again"?  
-Just sounds like you've been fighting a lot lately._

And, fuck, it's not like Nao didn't have a point. I guess it says something when you start getting _used_ to being perpetually pissed off.

I spent the whole morning feeling distracted and generally annoyed. I must not have been doing as good a job as I thought covering it up, because Ms. Shi gave me detention for, I shit you not, "disrupting the artistic energy" of her classroom. She's such an insufferable fucking basket case. On the plus side, a little of the anger I was feeling toward Trunks did end up redirected toward my art teacher.

Anyway, I dashed out of the room after class, only to stop dead in my tracks a few seconds later. I was planning on finding Trunks outside for lunch, as per usual, but, one, it was thunderstorming outside, and two, I wasn't sure if I actually _wanted _to see him right then. The decision was taken out of my hands, though, when I managed to run into him in the hallway. And when I say "run into," I mean literally—he slammed right into me, sending us both sprawling to the floor.

He started letting out a series of curses about people standing like statues in the middle of the hallway when he saw that it was me. "Oh," he cut himself off. "Uh, hey Goten."

I gathered the books that I'd dropped and shoved them into my bag. "Hey." I couldn't help but notice how he only wore the left strap of his backpack. So, against my better judgment, I asked. "Is your shoulder okay?"

Trunks frowned at me as he reached down—again, with his left arm—to help me up. We moved off to the side of the hallway so as to get out of everyone else's way. "It's _fine_."

I did my best not to sound irritated. "You didn't call me."

"Forgot," he deadpanned.

"Because the gaping wound on your shoulder wasn't enough of a reminder."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Then _why_ are you only balancing your backpack on your left shoulder?" He didn't have an answer for that, so we both just kind of stared off for a couple of seconds, silently leaning against the row of lockers.

"I gotta get going," he finally said after a spectacularly uncomfortable minute. "Got a meeting with the student advisor about university applications. Better get to it."

"I guess you should." When I made to walk over to the cafeteria, though, he pulled me back.

"Hey," he said, "I'm a quick healer. It'll probably be fine by tomorrow."

"Yeah," I sighed, "probably."

He paused for a minute, as if carefully considering his next words before responding. "I think you were right."

"About what?"

"Not spending enough time training outside. I've gotten too used to the gravity room. We ought to spar outdoors more often."

I admit, at this point, I was kind of taken aback. It's not really like him to take something I've said to heart. So I nodded and agreed, yeah, we should.

"And, um," he continued, "you were really on top of your game yesterday. It was pretty impressive, actually."

"Thanks." Not an apology, exactly, but as close to an admission that he was wrong as I'll ever get from him.

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before running off. "I'll catch you after class or something, okay?" I nodded, told him I'd head over as soon as I got out of detention, then ran off to the cafeteria.

Flash forward to later this afternoon. Ms. Shi spent the entirety of detention forcing me to "meditate" with her (I use quotes because she doesn't know what meditation _is_ until she's met a Namekian). The storm had mostly tapered off by the time I got out of school at around 4, but it was still drizzling and generally gross outside. And, because I don't want anyone to see me flying—and it just isn't worth it to use my capsule plane just to get to Trunks' house—I ended up traveling to Capsule Corp via West City's near incomprehensible bus system.

I really need to get my dad to teach me instant transmission.

I went upstairs as soon as I got to Trunks' house. I figured Trunks would be in his room, and knocked before coming inside. Bulma had apparently relented about Trunks keeping a pet pigeon in the house, because Lord Featherton was on the dresser preening himself looking, well, strangely smug. You know, for a pigeon.

"Hey Trunks." I set down my backpack as I walked into his room.

"Oh, hey," he said, looking up from his spot at his desk chair.

"Hi, Goten!" another voice called out, seemingly from behind the wall.

I looked around, trying to find the source disembodied voice. "The hell?"

"Oh," Trunks said. "Addo's in the closet."

I refrained from making the obvious pun. Instead, I just asked, "_Why_ is Addo in your closet?"

"He's changing."

I smacked my forehead. "So you're playing dress-up. Remind me again which one of us is the gay one?"

Addo called, again from the closet, "Still me!"

"_Anyway_," Trunks said, "Addo had to shower and change because, uh, Lord Featherton had a bit of an accident on his head."

"It wasn't an accident!" Addo cried out. "That bird hates me!"

"Oh, he does not!" Trunks insisted. He walked over to his dresser and started stroking the top of Lord Featherton's head. The pigeon stopped preening himself and looked up. I swear, he had the same look on his face that Pan does when she knows she's gotten away with something.

"You're both freaks," I said. "You know that, right?" Trunks snorted in response; Lord Featherton just cooed dismissively.

Trunks turned back to the closed door of his large walk-in closet. "Addo, what is taking you so long?"

"I can't find anything here that fits!" Addo cried out. "All your clothes are big on me."

"I've got some older stuff that doesn't fit anymore in the back," Trunks said. "Check there." Addo mumbled something inaudible in reply, and after a few minutes of loud rustling, the door opened.

You should know that Trunks' wardrobe consists almost entirely of blue, black, and various shades of gray. So it really shouldn't have been surprising when Addo popped out of the closet wearing an old, faded pair of fitted designer jeans, along with a loose, black button-down shirt. But it's fucking _Addo_—on any given day, he's more likely to be wearing pink pleather than denim. So, yeah, it was a pretty striking change.

Now, he is nowhere near my type. But with the more muted look, no glitter, dark colors, even I had to admit that he looked fantastic. And judging from the look on Trunks' face, he agreed.

"Good _god _you are attractive." Trunks lifted his hand from the pigeon's head. Lord Featherton shook himself and cooed, clearly offended by the loss of attention. Trunks didn't notice.

"Uh," Addo mumbled out, scratching at the back of his neck. "Thanks?"

"No, really," Trunks nodded enthusiastically. "Tell him, Goten!" I shrugged and stayed quiet. What was I even supposed to say to that?

"Uh," Addo repeated. "It's fine. He doesn't need to..." He trailed off as his cheeks began to turn pink.

Trunks tilted his head to one side, staring at him. "Are you blushing?"

"No!" Even as he was denying it, though, Addo turned a darker red.

"Holy shit," Trunks said, sounding way too entertained by the whole situation. "You _are _blushing!"

I winced, looking for a way to minimize Addo's embarrassment. He's not my favorite person on the planet, but even I was starting to feel bad for him. "Come on Trunks," I said, "leave him alone."

"No way," Trunks snorted. "Not until he tells me why he's suddenly three shades of red."

Addo shook his head and looked away, grabbing his backpack. "I gotta go, okay?" And before either of us could respond, he ran out of Trunks' room, leaving his own clothes in a pile on the floor.

Trunks raised an eyebrow at his door. "What the hell was that about?"

Despite not wanting to get in the middle of this absurd teen soap opera, I decided it was time to clue in my (willfully?) oblivious boyfriend. So even though that often-ignored logical part of my brain was shouting at me to keep my mouth shut, I said, "You know he still has feelings for you, right?"

"No he doesn't," Trunks said. The look on his face screamed that he thought I reigned supreme among all idiots. "We only hooked up once."

I frowned, pressing my hand to my forehead. I could already feel a Trunks-headache coming on. "Look, I _know_ you only hooked up once, and I know it was more than a year ago. That doesn't mean he doesn't still have a thing for you."

Trunks snorted derisively. "What are you, jealous?"

"No, I'm not jealous!" I said, full aware that I was raising my voice just a little more than necessary. "But Addo's _supposed _to be your friend. You shouldn't jerk him around." Because, seriously, Addo might be a loud, flamboyant pain in the ass, but he _is_ a nice guy. He deserves better than being Trunks' emotional yo-yo.

"Exactly. He's _my_ friend," Trunks said condescendingly. "I think I'd know if he had a crush on me."

I removed my hand from my face. "You're impossible."

"Look," Trunks rolled his eyes, "even if Addo does still like me—which he doesn't—he knows I'm taken. You don't have anything to be worried about."

"That isn't the point!" I grabbed Trunks' car keys, which were sitting on his dresser next to the pigeon, and quickly stomped out of his room.

"Where are you going?" Trunks asked after me.

I shouted back at him from the hallway. "To make sure _your_ friend is okay!"

I ran down the stairs and out the door. I saw that Addo was only about halfway down the block, so I managed to catch up with him pretty quickly. "Hey," I said, getting his attention as I walked up besides him. "Where are you off to?"

"Home," Addo answered without stopping.

I frowned at him, half-jogging to keep pace with him. "Don't you live about six miles away?"

"It's a nice day," he deadpanned. Which was, of course, a total lie—it was unpleasantly cool, overcast, and it was still misting.

"Hey, I can give you a ride." I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to stand still for a minute. He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Stop!" He yanked his shoulder away without turning to face me. "Just, stop, okay?"

"Okay, okay." I put my hands up in a gesture of peace, even though he was still turned around. "Look, if you want me to leave you alone, I will. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Son of a bitch," he said, finally spinning on one heel and looking at me. "Why couldn't you be a jerk? If you were an asshole, I could try to convince him that you're no good for him or something. But, no, you just _had_ to be a nice guy."

"I could say the same thing to you." And even though it was completely inappropriate, I grinned. "As it is, I can't threaten to break your kneecaps if you don't keep away from my boyfriend." Despite himself, he laughed. Which, while kind of awkward, helped dissolve some of the tension between us. I took the opportunity to jerk my head back in the direction of Trunks' car. "Come on, let me give you a ride home."

His expression was somewhere between relieved and defeated. "Yeah, okay." And thus began the most awkward, painfully silent drive of my life.

It was about ten minutes before we pulled into Addo's driveway. I kept the engine running, but Addo didn't move to get out. He just sat there, staring out the windshield for a good two minutes before speaking again

"Do you think he does it on purpose?" Addo asked. "Mess with me like that?"

Even though it seemed like Addo was talking more to himself than to me, I responded. "Naw. Trunks isn't mean so much as thoughtless. And oblivious."

"I guess."

"He has a bad habit of forgetting that his actions might actually _affect_ other people."

"Yeah." Addo pressed his forehead head against the glass of the window and closed his eyes. "I know we're not a good fit. So why's he so hard to get over?"

I shrugged and tried to lighten the moment with another lame attempt at humor. "He's a pretty attractive jerk. Got a great set of abs."

Addo suddenly sat back up and turned to me, then poked me in the stomach with one finger. "Yeah, you're one to talk." He pulled back again. "How do you keep it up?"

"Martial arts." I smiled. "Karate does a body good." Technically not a lie. Sure, the Saiyan physiology helps, but Addo didn't need to know about that.

"Martial arts. Of course." He shook his head sadly. "You grew up together, you train together, you know everything about each other. You already practically live together. Why did I think I could compete?" When I didn't answer, he opened the door and stepped out of the car, then turned back to look at me. "It's crazy. You guys were made for each other." And with that, he shut the door and walked back into his house.

I sat in the car with my hands the steering wheel for a while, just letting the engine run, playing over Addo's words in my mind. Because—and I know it's a line that gets used in a lot of cheesy romantic plays and movies—I couldn't figure out how being "made for each other" was supposed to be a good thing. It kind of implies that there's no choice in the matter.

It kind of implies you're stuck with one another.


	24. Entry 24

_Wednesday 21 October_

I think I need some new people in my life.

Today started off with me and Trunks Ignoring each other in the hallway before school. I don't just mean regular ignoring—I mean, capital-I Ignoring, pointedly refusing to make eye contact, bumping shoulders without acknowledging each other's existence. You know, run-of-the-mill bullshit high school drama. I'm guessing Trunks was pissed at me for taking his car without asking. I was pissed at _him_ for, well, being a jerk. I spent calculus insisting to Nao that nothing was wrong, literature insisting to Dia that nothing was wrong, history pretending not to see Nao's very pointed stare that said he didn't believe me when I said nothing was wrong, and art class drawing increasingly violent sketches, because _of course_ something was wrong.

I'm not sure whether I was pissed off on Addo's behalf or my own.

I was all primed to spend the rest of the day doing this when I realized both Trunks and I were being morons. I tried to hunt him down during lunch, but he wasn't in the courtyard, the hallways by the music rooms, or the cafeteria. I finally gave up about fifteen minutes in, scrambled to eat my lunch, and was once again late for chemistry. Predictably, I ended up paired with Ava for lab—which, between the fact that I'm a klutz and the fact that she was more interested in what I thought of her new haircut (which didn't look all that different to me) than getting our work done, resulted in us breaking three flasks filled with saline.

I suppose I should just be grateful we weren't working with acid today.

I got through my next two classes, rushed to get ready after gym, and ran out to the parking lot. See, whenever Trunks and I fight about something, the longer it festers, the worse it gets. So I leaned against the side of his car and waited for him to come outside.

I didn't have to wait too long, which was good, seeing as it hadn't stopped drizzling since yesterday. Which, now that I think about it, might explain why Trunks wasn't out in the courtyard for lunch. I stood around long enough for my clothes to get all sticky and damp and start clinging too my skin, but not quite long enough to actually feel _wet_. By then, Trunks came outside, keys in hand, and glared at me across the parking lot.

"What's up," he said as he came up to me. It wasn't a question, more of a cold, monotone greeting.

Even though I'd been standing outside for a good ten minutes, I honestly didn't know what I wanted to say. So I shifted my backpack from one shoulder to the other, shrugged, and asked lamely, "Uh, are we still fighting?"

"I don't know," Trunks sneered. "Are you going to sit me down for another lecture?"

I glared at him, all thoughts of making peace going out the window. And even though I don't think telling him to stop jerking Addo's chain really counts as much of a telling-off, I said, "Maybe sometimes you _need_ a lecture."

"Maybe _you_ need to stop treating me like I'm an idiot."

"I will when you _act_ like an idiot."

At which point he rolled his eyes, folded his arms, and said, "I'm smarter than you are, Chibi."

My jaw dropped. I stared at him for a full minute, about ten different responses of varying levels of nastiness floating around in my head, before I deadpanned, "I'm leaving now." I stepped away from his car; he immediately unlocked the door and started his engine. I turned back to the school building as he drove off.

Since I didn't really feel like going home, I made my way into the one part of the school I normally wouldn't be caught dead in—the library. Of course, the one day I actually decide to go there, Nao decides to head home early, so I sat in the back corner staring at my books and "doing my homework." By which I mean doodling pictures of Shenlong and a few irate pterodactyls in the margins of my notebooks.

The librarian kicked me and the few remaining chess nerds out of the library at around 5. I flew home—and as nice as it was of Bulma to give me a capsule plane and a maintenance kit, I really wish I could just fly home on my own without the risk of being seen—landed in front of my house a little after six, and walked inside. It wasn't until I smelled dinner cooking that I realized just how hungry I was. Saiyan appetites can be a real pain.

It wasn't until I'd set my backpack down by the couch that I realized that there were three, rather than two, voices coming out of the kitchen. I poked my head in to see that my parents apparently decided to have Gohan over. Probably not a bad idea, considering that Videl and Pan were still out of town—Gohan might be a genius, but he's even more of a disaster in the kitchen than I am.

I told my dad a few weeks ago about the time Gohan had managed to start a small grease fire trying to make a cup of tea. When my dad pointed out that I'd once managed to screw up a ham sandwich (and break the motor of the refrigerator in the process), I defended myself on the grounds that, hey, I was _six._

Seriously. The one upside of not having my dad around until I was seven should be a lack of embarrassing childhood stories.

Anyway, my mom chided me for being late as she finished setting the table. I shrugged and apologized, figuring that it wasn't worth the trouble of explaining that she hadn't given me a time to be home. So, rather than argue, I helped her set the table and sat down for dinner.

I spent the next twenty minutes or so scarfing down my food and nodding, pretending to care while Gohan talked about his new job (interspersed, of course, with loud gushing and not-so-subtle hinting from my mother). He apparently aced his interview—big fucking surprise—and got the offer from Greater Hubei Technological Institute to teach physics there. Yep, my brother is teaching at a school I couldn't possibly get into. Good to know.

I finished up my meal and waited for a lull in the conversation to stand up from the table. "Alright, I think it's time for me to go upstairs and do my homework." I started clearing off my place. And then, because my filter is apparently not working, I added, "By which I mean, stare blankly at my calc textbook for about an hour."

My dad turned around in his chair and frowned at me. "Didn't you do really well on your last test?"

"Yeah," I said, "because Trunks was up all night breaking it down for me like I'm a six-year-old."

And that's when my brother decided to speak up. "You're having trouble with calculus?"

"Mr. Mori couldn't teach his way out of a paper bag." I probably came off as a bit more defensive than I really meant to. "And calc is _hard_, okay?"

Gohan let out an awkward half-chuckle. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"Says the physics professor." With that, I walked out of the kitchen, grabbed my backpack from the living room, and went back to my room. I'd just barely pulled my books onto my desk when I heard a knock on the door.

As long as I can remember, Gohan has always knocked on doors the same way—three sharp taps, followed by waiting, followed by three more taps if no one answers. Where my mom will pound on the door twice and then make her way inside regardless of whether she gets an answer, and my dad will just drum his knuckles haphazardly and try not to accidentally break it down (it's happened more than once), Gohan's always been very deliberate about it. So I knew immediately that my brother was on the other side of the door.

I heard three taps. I didn't answer. A pause of about thirty seconds, followed by three more taps. Again, I didn't answer. A minute longer, and I heard a third set of knocks. Seeing as Gohan usually gives up after two tries, I figured he wasn't going anywhere until I gave some sort of response.

Besides, it's not like he'd actually _done_ anything. So I called from my desk, "Yeah?"

Out swung the door. And in came Gohan. I looked up from my books; he folded his arms and leaned against the doorway.

"I wasn't trying to give you a hard time about calculus, you know."

"Whatever," I said, turning back to my homework.

He walked inside and sat down on the bed. "I live next _door_, Goten. If you were struggling, you could have asked me for help."

"Right, because you got the brains in the family."

Gohan rolled his eyes. "Is that what this is about?" When I didn't answer, he sighed and continued.

"You're already a better writer than I've ever been. And I've seen your sketchbook. It's really impressive."

I didn't look away from my notebooks. "Don't patronize me."

"I am _not_ patronizing you." It was clear that he was starting to get annoyed, but he kept pressing. "I don't know what I've done to make you so angry—"

I threw down my pen and turned around in my seat. "I'm not angry!"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Uh huh."

I bit my lip, chewing on it for a minute before replying. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just stressed out. Trunks is being a pain, Mom gets crazier by the day, I've got this stupid art project that I've made no progress on, and you . . ."

"And I what?"

"You always seem to have it so _together_. How do you do it?"

Gohan actually laughed at that. "_I_ have it together? Have you missed the hyperactive three-year-old?"

"Pan's an angel."

"Sure. A fallen one, maybe."

I picked up my pen and started chewing on it again. I mean, Pan's always been pretty well-behaved with me, but I'm not responsible for her 24-7.

"I don't know where you got the idea that I have everything together, Goten," Gohan went on, "but you're wrong. I have a little girl who's already more of a fighter than most adults. But when she's training with me or Dad, all I can think about is if she's going to get hurt, or get lost flying around the woods, or bite off more than she can chew one of these days." He tapped his temple. "I'm turning into a complete basket case!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Worrying about your kid does _not_ make you crazy."

"How about having a kid you didn't plan?"

"What?" I asked, spitting out my pen. "Videl's pregnant again?" It seemed like something he would have told our mom about already.

"Nope."

I mulled over his words for a second before it hit me. "Pan was an _accident!_"

"Shh!" he said. "Videl and I wanted to wait a few years after getting married. I honestly thought she'd be getting pregnant for the first time around now. You really think I wanted a kid at twenty-two?"

"But…" I paused for a moment. "You're doing such an awesome job with her."

"Because Videl and I have had a _lot _of help. We've got her dad, our parents. And, of course, Pan's favorite uncle."

"I'm her _only_ uncle."

"Point is, we're family. We help each other out, remember?"

I told him that it still wasn't the same thing. Having a kid is _supposed_ to be a bigger deal than math tests and mad-scientist boyfriends. So he responded, "My first week of high school, I was blackmailed into a date, blackmailed into giving Videl flying lessons, blackmailed into fighting in a martial arts tournament—"

"Yeah," I cut him off. "I remember all that."

"The point is, if you've managed not to be bribed or blackmailed yet, you're handling high school a heck of a lot better than I did."

I frowned and looked back at the pile of homework on my desk. "I, uh." Again, I didn't really know what to say to that. So instead I just went, "I wasn't bullshitting you earlier. I really do have a lot of homework to get done."

"Fair enough," Gohan said, standing up from the bed. "I'll leave you to it."

"Okay."

"And really. You shouldn't hesitate to ask me for help, alright?"

"Alright," I said, even though the look on his face made it clear that we both knew I wouldn't.

He could have just left it at that. But as Gohan walked out of my room, he turned back to me, shoved his glasses up his nose, and said, "I miss you, little brother." He shut the door with a soft click.

It sucked. Because the truth is, I miss him too. But it feels like I don't really _know_ him that well anymore. And, I dunno, maybe that's more my fault than his.


	25. Entry 25

_Thursday 22 October_

My name is Son Goten, and I am a sucker.

Today's installment of Goten Is An Idiot begins, as usual, in the halls of West City High School. See, if there's anything worse than fighting with Trunks, it's not being quite sure if we're fighting. But then he shot me a text message at the beginning of lunch, telling me to meet him in that quiet hallway by the music rooms. And because I wasn't entirely sure how pissed off with him I still was, I decided to go.

It didn't go how I'd hoped.

When I got there, he wasn't sitting. He still had his backpack on—he was using both straps, so I guess his right shoulder really is better—and looking anxious. I walked up to him and tried to keep my tune neutral. "What's up?"

He frowned as he turned to me. "Did you say something to him?"

"To who?"

Trunks gave me that obnoxious 'you're-a-moron' look. "Addo, Goten. Did you say anything to Addo?"

So it was that again. "Why the fuck would you think I said anything to him?"

"Because it seems like he's been avoiding me. What the hell did you say to him the other day?"

My boyfriend is a self-absorbed jackass. "I didn't tell him _anything_, Trunks. I just gave _your_ friend a ride home because _you_ were too self-involved to see that he was upset!"

I expected him to fight back. Instead he just said, "Forget I asked," before making an about-face and heading off to Kami-knows-where. Which, honestly, might be more infuriating than getting into another argument.

Part of me wanted to go after him and tell him, no, he can't just blame me for his stupid issues and then brush me off. I resisted the urge, though, swung by my locker to switch out my books for my afternoon classes, and decided to brave the crowds in the cafeteria.

It didn't take me long to find Nao, who was again sitting alone at a table in the far corner. So, okay, he is a little weirdly asocial, but hey, considering the lunatics that populate our high school, I can't really blame him for spending so much time off by himself. I said hello, sat down across from him, and started picking at my lunch.

Nao looked up from his history book and frowned at me. "You're pissed off."

I snorted, something between a laugh and a scoff, and asked if I was really that obvious. He laughed and said, yeah, as usual.

"Just Trunks being a dick again," I said, taking a bite out of my lunch.

"What happened this time?"

"I finally let Trunks in on the fact that Addo likes him as more than a friend. Now he's mad at _me_, like I'm the reason Addo's suddenly avoiding him."

Nao frowned at me across his textbook. "I doubt he _really_ thinks you did anything."

"So, what," I asked, "he's just blaming me for shits and giggles?"

"Look, he's probably annoyed with himself for not seeing what was going on with Addo. You're just a convenient target."

"You think so?" And, thinking about it now, Nao was probably right—it sounds exactly like the sort of thing Trunks would do. He is, in case you haven't noticed, not the best at owning up to his mistakes.

Nao nodded at me. "That'd be my guess."

"Still a shitty thing to do." I'm pretty sure I was pouting when I said it.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it'll blow over." Then, when I just sat there frowning at my sandwich, Nao said, "Look, I've got a meeting with Mr. Penlu"—that's the freshman history teacher he works for—"after school. Shouldn't take more than thirty minutes or so. Wanna meet up afterwards and head over to my house to kill space invaders for a couple of hours?" And I said, sure, why not. Because, first, I didn't really have anything better to do—well, except homework, but I was going to end up putting that off anyway—and second, because fighting alien monsters in video games is a lot more fun than fighting ones in real life.

That was why I was still at school thirty minutes after the end of sixth period. That's why I was in the hallway by Nao's locker, which is halfway across the school from my own locker. And that's why I ended up running into Ava.

See, when I started walking over to Nao's locker to meet up with him, I saw her leaning against the wall with some guy leaning against her. She was in running shorts and a t-shirt—she runs track, and isn't it hard to run with those boobs?—and I was just happy to see her with another guy. Hell, I figured, she might even leave me alone.

But, no, it wasn't to be. As soon as I got close enough to get a better look, I saw that she was not, in fact, making out with him. The guy—I'm pretty sure he's in Trunks' class—had one hand on her waist, the other against the wall, and was pressing into her. She looked none too happy about the situation.

I saw her push against him a little. "Seriously, Eiguo," she said. "Get _off_."

'Eiguo'—who's a pretty big guy, he's got a similar build to Kato—just grinned at her. "That's what I'd _like_ to do."

See, what I _should_ have done was leave her. But, no, I just _had_ to inherit my dad's dislike of seeing someone pushed around. Even when that someone is a loud, obnoxious, ditzy girl that can't seem to grasp the concept of homosexuality. So I walked up to them, tapped the guy on the shoulder, and suggested that he leave her alone.

He proceeded to ignore me. I told him, more forcefully this time, to back off. He turned his head to look at me, rolled his eyes, and said he wasn't afraid of "some scrawny, limp-wristed faggot."

You know, that's one area where I've been pretty lucky. My parents—even my crazy, baby-obsessed mother—don't care I'm gay, Trunks' parents _really_ don't care, and for the most part kids at school don't seem to mind either way. But there is always that one idiot.

Eiguo is, apparently, that idiot.

I ignored his comment and told him, once more, to back off before I _made_ him back off. To which he stepped away from Ava, grabbed me by the shirt collar, and slammed me back against the wall in what I'm pretty sure was _supposed_ to be an effort to intimidate me.

I think you can see where this is going. I looked around, made sure no teachers or administrators were around to see, then lifted one leg off the ground kicked him in the gut. Even though I was holding back—I didn't want to land him in the hospital, or worse—he went clear across the hall and slammed into the opposite wall before sliding down to the floor. And, because he's apparently something less than completely retarded, he took a minute to catch his breath before grabbing his bag and getting the hell away from me.

I know it wasn't exactly a fair fight, but the guy clearly had an ass-kicking coming to him.

Ava was, naturally, stunned. She gaped at me, then grinned and shrieked, "That was amazing!"

"Uh, not really," I said, wondering where the hell Nao was and hoping he would show up already so I could get out of there. "I've been studying martial arts since I was a kid."

She kept smiling at me. "Oh, Goten, I don't know how to thank you!"

I was about to say that she could return the favor—that is, stop with the unwelcome advances—but before I could react, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

Now, this brings the grand total of times I've been kissed by a girl to four. All the others were with a girl that Videl had decided to set me up with—the daughter of one of Mr. Satan's publicity agents—and all three of them were in my first year of high school. The first time, I just kind of stood there and didn't really feel anything. The second time, there was tongue, and I found myself vaguely queasy. The third time, I confessed that I wasn't even sure I _liked_ girls (and proceeded to spend the rest of the evening apologizing, letting her sob into my jacket, and reassuring her that, yes, she was a fine kisser, and no, she hadn't turned me off women).

This time around, though? I was way more than mildly grossed out. I felt sick to my stomach.

As soon as I got my bearings, I shoved her arms off me, grabbed my backpack, and ran out of the school. It wasn't until I was ten minutes into my flight home that I remembered I was supposed to meet up with Nao—hell, that was the reason I had stuck around after school in the first place. I made a quick phone call, said that something had suddenly come up (which, as far as I'm concerned, it did) and told him I would see him tomorrow.

I couldn't make this shit up. I help out a girl—a girl I don't even like—by warding off unwanted physical affection, only to be rewarded with unwanted physical affection.

Why do I even bother trying?


	26. Entry 26

_Friday 23 October_

I'm going to kill Trunks.

I know I've said that before. I've said it many, many times over the years. But this time I mean it.

Trunks has been completely insufferable since he turned eighteen. I mean, this happens every year. He's almost a year and a half older than me, so there are always a few magical, wonderful months in which he's _two_ years older than me, and his usual smug-and-superior routine ends up magnified. But with him being eighteen, it's gotten so much worse.

Like tonight. Dia's jerky-manufacturing parents were out of town on what she referred to as a "meat retreat"—I ignored the comments of that perverted voice in my head, the one that sounds like Trunks—so she was hosting a party at her house. As opposed to Capsule Corp, which is more of a multi-part compound than a single house, Dia lives in what you'd call more of a standard mansion. Large atrium, huge open spaces, chandelier in the main corridor, generally a perfect space for a large party. Whenever she gets the place to herself (which is pretty often), she clears out anything that's easily breakable, rearranges the furniture, and hosts a more-or-less open party.

Honestly, after yesterday, I had no desire to see either Trunks or Ava, and considering that they're probably Dia's two best friends, I knew they would be at the party. So I probably wouldn't have even gone, except that Dia made a point of making sure I'd be there during lit class today. When I told her I wasn't in much of a partying mood, and that Trunks would be there whether or not _I _was there, she said, "Yes, but _you_ are my friend too, and so help me if you aren't there I'm going to see to it that you regret it." And while Dia may be short and skinny and lacking in the super-strength department, the girl is _creative_. The last thing I needed was, say, a rabid gerbil stuffed into my locker, ready to launch itself onto my face the next time I had to go retrieve a textbook.

Again. I kind of get why Nao says she comes off as a bitch.

So, under a vague yet somehow terrifying threat, I ended up at Dia's party. My attempts to get Nao to come along were, of course, in vain, and since I still wasn't really speaking to Trunks, I went home after school and showed up at Dia's place a little after nine o'clock.

It was already pretty crowded by the time I got there. Dia, hyper-social creature that she is, was playing hostess, flitting around the room and making a point of talking to everyone there. She'd apparently decided to dye her hair purple—not that same pale lavender that Trunks has, but a really electric purple that can't possibly occur in nature—and I saw her talking to this tall, good-looking guy in a black t-shirt that looked vaguely familiar. I was watching the guy, trying to figure out where the hell I'd seen him, when Kato came up to me and handed me a can.

Kato, unlike Dia, is not a social butterfly. Sure, he's not a sociophobe like Nao, but he doesn't have a ton of patience for the vapid, bubbly girls that seem to populate the better part of Dia's greater social circle. So it's not uncommon for us to spend large chunks of these parties hanging out, talking about school or cars or martial arts or whatever, while his girlfriend and my boyfriend wander around doing the socialite-in-training thing.

Guess it comes with the territory of respectively dating an impulsive, irresponsible heir and an impulsive, irresponsible heiress.

I opened up the can—soda, of course—as Kato began sipping on his beer. We talked for a few minutes, hanging back by the snack table, before I finally mustered up the guts to ask if he'd seen Addo around.

"No," Kato said with a frown. "He's been pretty distant the last few days, actually. You know what's up with him?" I really didn't want to get into why Addo would be going out of his way to avoid Trunks, so I responded with a shrug. Since Kato's known me long enough to realize that, when I'm being noncommittal, I'm probably hiding something—again, I am almost as lousy a liar as my dad—he frowned at me and asked again. Luckily, before we could get into it, Dia interrupted us.

She came up behind Kato and slid her arms around his waist. She then peaked out from behind him and said hello. It's only when she waggled her eyebrows at me that I saw that she had a brand new eyebrow piercing.

I rolled my eyes at her. "Didn't you already have enough metal in your face?"

Dia didn't say anything. Instead, she untangled herself from Kato, stepped aside, and stuck her tongue out at me, revealing a shiny new metal barbell going straight through it.

"What the hell are you going to do with a tongue ring?"

Dia winked. "Ask Kato."

I set my half-full soda can on a nearby table, shaking my head at Dia's maniacal grin and Kato's smirk. "You're both perverts."

"Yeah," Dia said, "tell me something I don't know." She put her hands on her hips. "Speaking of, where's your worse half?"

I narrowed my eyes at the mention of my asstarded boyfriend. "Fuck if I know. Around somewhere. We didn't come together."

"Oh," she pouted. "You fighting again?"

My glare deepened. "The fuck do you mean again?"

"Like this is news," she said with a world-weary sigh. "You guys fight all the time."

Kato must have picked up on my discomfort and, thankfully, butt in. "Uh, Dia, new topic of conversation?"

"Alright, alright," she said to her boyfriend before looking back to me. "Hey, is your buddy Nao around?"

"Naw, this isn't really his scene." Then I paused for a minute, realized that she'd actually gotten his name right, and of course made a comment about it.

Dia rolled her eyes at me. "Of course I know his name."

"Then why did you keep messing it up?"

She shrugged. "He crinkles up his nose when he gets annoyed. It's funny." A loud clang from the other end of the room suddenly grabbed our attention. The three of us looked toward the far corner and saw two very confused, half-naked girls standing beside a knocked-over floor lamp.

"Oh, damnit," Dia huffed out. "I'd better go get Mela and Laddi away from the vodka before they end up doing some serious property damage." She turned to the two senior girls and shouted across the room to them, "Hey, you dumb whores! Get your pants back on!" And off stomped the tiny party referee.

Kato and I both stared on as Dia righted the floor lamp, then forcibly shoved Laddi's legs back into her jeans. I laughed, and looked to my right to see a goofy grin on Kato's face.

"I'm going to marry that girl," Kato said.

I smiled back at him. "Whatever you say, big guy." He walked off to help Mela back into her black pants—which, by the way, were so tight I think she actually looked _more_ clothed in just her underwear—then decided to drag Dia off for a wholly inappropriate (if kind of cute) public display of affection.

I, meanwhile, felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see none other than Ava standing there, smelling of alcohol and bearing a thoroughly glazed-over expression.

I glowered at her, hoping to make it clear just how upset I was about the kissing stunt she pulled at school. "What do you want?"

She grinned and leaned toward me, treating me to the lovely bouquet that can only come from the combination of very expensive perfume and very cheap alcohol. "I just wanted to thank you again for helping me out yesterday."

"You've already thanked me _more_ than enough."

"Oh, come on," she said, slipping her arms around my waist, much as Dia had done to Kato a few minutes earlier. "I'll make it worth your while, promise."

"Aaaaand we're done here," I said, peeling her off me like used gym sock (notwithstanding the fact that I actually prefer the smell of dirty gym socks to that godawful perfume). "I'll catch you later." Then, mercifully, I caught sight of Trunks sitting on one of the couches near the middle of Dia's massive living room. Since Trunks at the worst of times is still better company than Ava at the best of times, I decided to take refuge with my boyfriend as a (half-) human shield.

It was a matter of seconds before I slid into the empty seat next to Trunks. "Hey," I said.

Trunks raised an eyebrow at me over his beer bottle. "I thought we were fighting."

"We are. But I needed to get away from Ava."

"Hitting on you again?" He took another swig of his drink.

I nodded. "It's so fucking annoying."

He snorted. Then he said, "Please. You like it."

I took a few seconds to process his remark. "What?"

"I said, you like it. You like it when Ava flirts with you."

I immediately felt another Trunks Headache coming on. "Yes, that must be it. Despite the fact that I am in a relationship and not attracted to women, I like being constantly hit on by a crazy girl."

"I'm not saying you want to do anything with her. But being picked up is flattering. That's why you encourage it."

"_Encourage_ it? How the hell do I encourage it?"

"You let her hit on you. You're actually pretty nice to her." Then he asked, "Have you ever really told her off?"

"No, because I don't want to be a _jerk_!"

"Uh huh, sure." Like it was beyond him why I wouldn't go out of my way to hurt this girl's feelings.

"Look," I said, "considering the way you're constantly teasing Addo—"

"Addo doesn't _like me_," Trunks cut me off. "And he doesn't hit on me."

It was my turn to snort. "Except when you were fucking him."

"Exactly. It was just that. _Fucking_."

The pounding in my skull intensified. "So tell me why he isn't here."

"I dunno, it's Addo." He didn't look at me as he downed the last of his beer. "There's a good chance he's out getting his ass pounded by someone twice his age in the back room of a club."

I gaped at him. "You're a complete asshole. You do know that, right?"

He reached for another beer bottle on the table and opened it up with his teeth. "Maybe," he said, spitting the bottlecap into his palm, "but I'm an asshole with better things to do than sit here and listen to another tirade." Then, just like he said, he got up and walked away.

I let my face fall into my hands. I was rubbing my eyes, trying to relieve the worst of the pressure in my head, when I heard a deep, unfamiliar male voice address me.

"You look like you could use a drink."

I looked up to see the good-looking stranger that Dia had been speaking to. He was even cuter up close—his black t-shirt cut against his tanned skin, just as his black hair contrasted with bright, green eyes. I didn't realize I'd been staring until he said, with a soft laugh, "I asked if you wanted a drink."

"Uh..." came my eloquent response. Finally, I shook my head and said, no thanks, I don't really drink.

He grinned. "Me neither." He showed me the can in his hand—it was a cola. "I'll get you a soda." True to his word, he came back seconds later with another soda.

"Uh, thanks." I stood and took the can from him. I bit my lip before I realized I was, once again, staring at him like an idiot. I shook my head again and attempted a recovery. "I'm Goten, by the way."

"Keimin," he said with a smile. It should be noted, for the record, that he had a _very_ nice smile. "Nice to meet you."

I opened up the can and took a sip. Then, because I am apparently incapable of normal social interaction, I blurted out, "You look really familiar."

He laughed. "I thought I was trying to pick _you_ up."

"It's not a pickup line," I insisted. "It's just that I don't think I've seen you around school."

"That's because I live in North City." He shrugged one shoulder. "Were you at that big party at last week? The one at Oasis?"

"Were you there?"

"I'm in the band that played that gig. I'm the drummer."

"Oh, right." I nodded, then said with my usual social grace, "I didn't recognize you with your shirt on."

He laughed again, then fell quiet. We stood there in silence for a few seconds. Just as I was starting to wonder why he was still talking to me, even though I was acting like a total freak, he asked, "So, can I get your number?"

"Well," I said, setting down my second half-full soda can of the evening, "I'm kind of dating someone."

"Oh," he said. He looked disappointed. "Mind if I ask who?"

"The guy that hired you, actually."

"Guy with the purple hair?" He raised an eyebrow at me. "The one hitting on the redhead on the other side of the room?"

I turned around to see what he was talking about. Indeed, a very drunk Mela was hanging over my rather less drunk boyfriend. He looked all to happy to be her (half-) human support beam.

I felt my recently-faded Trunks Headache come back with a vengeance. "Yeah. That would be the jerk I'm dating."

"Uh huh. Well," he said as he pulled a pen out of his pocket, "at least he's hot." He grabbed a napkin and jotted something down on it, then handed it to me. "Look, give me a call if you change your mind, okay?" I slipped the paper into my pocket as he retreated into the growing crowd of drunk teenagers.

I don't know why I didn't just walk out right then. I don't know why I sat back down on the couch and proceeded to stare at Trunks shamelessly flirting with (and occasionally groping) his wasted classmate. I don't know why I didn't throw away Keimin's number. And I definitely couldn't tell you why I decided not to leave the party, even when Ava sat down next to me.

So there I was. Sitting on the couch at Dia's house, after Trunks vanished on me, with Ava hitting on me as Dia and Kato made out under one of tables. Just like last December.

Except this time I knew where Trunks was. I knew that Ava wasn't going to let up any time soon. And I had the number of a very attractive teenage drummer in my jeans pocket.

I'll get around to throwing it out. Really.


	27. Entry 27

_Saturday 24 October_

I'm not sure I can keep doing this.

I didn't think it would get to this point. But I think Trunks and I, we might be done. And it's not because he's a flirt or a lush or a mad scientist. It's because he's actually an uncaring dick.

Anyway. This morning. I woke up, pissed off of course, and spent a good ten minutes sitting on my bed and capital-I Ignoring the phone number sitting on my dresser. I finally dragged my ass out from under my cover and got dressed before heading to the kitchen for—breakfast? lunch?—not sure which, considering I didn't get home until past three a.m. and thus didn't wake up until around 11. I walked over to the fridge to grab some food, leftovers from dinner last night (yes, my mother actually made enough for _leftovers_, that's how much she overcooked) and was viciously stabbing at a piece of cold chicken with my fork when I saw my dad walk by.

He said good morning, and asked how my evening went. I responded by muttering something completely inappropriate into my plate. He laughed—he's got a much higher tolerance for my "foul-mouthedness" than my mother does—and asked if I wanted to come with him.

"Where are you going?" I asked. He said he was heading over to Capsule Corp, since he had a sparring session set up with Vegeta.

You know, for two guys who claim not to like each other all that much, Vegeta and my dad act an awful lot like friends.

Anyway, he offered to instantly-transmit (I think that's the verb form) me over to Capsule Corp since, as he figured it, I'd probably end up spending my day there anyway. I opened my mouth to say, no, thanks, I actually _didn't_ want to see Trunks today, but I cut myself off. This running fight we've been having—about Addo, the fact that he's an insensitive jerk, etc.—had been festering long enough, and I knew that the tension was just going to get worse if I didn't go over to talk to him. So I said, sure, bring me along, why not? As soon as I scarfed down the rest of my food, he put a hand on my shoulder; a split second later, we were in West City.

We materialized at the back door. Smart, considering someone probably would notice two guys appearing out of thin air if we showed up out front. The door was unlocked. My dad didn't bother to ring the doorbell, not like Vegeta would have answered anyway, and we strode in.

He made his way back toward the gravity room, where he rightfully assumed Vegeta would be. I thought about going upstairs to see if Trunks was in his room, then figured, nah, he's probably in his lab.

I should have known something was wrong as soon as I walked into the living room. Trunks had set up his pigeon's cage near the back wall of the room, right by the staircase that leads into the basement, and Lord Featherton was freaking the fuck out over something. I walked over to him to see if something was wrong, see if he was injured, but he looked fine; he was just jumping up and down on his perch, squawking madly and darting his head from side to side. I'm not too good with animals, as my prior experiences with lizards, pigeons, and pterodactyls demonstrate, so I figured I'd just get Trunks and ask him why his bird seemed to be having a panic attack.

Turns out, I didn't end up having to ask.

You know how some people say pets will flip out if they sense their owners are in some kind of trouble? I always thought those people were nuts. Apparently, they're dead-on.

See, I went down to Trunks' lab, and as soon as I opened the door, I was hit with a wall of this foul-smelling white smoke. It wasn't fire-smoke, just obviously the result of some chemical reaction gone wrong. I coughed a little, waved the smoke away from my face, and walked over to him, breathing through my shirt sleeve.

Trunks was sitting on a stool, wearing his goggles and a labcoat, his head cocked to one side with a very glazed-over look in his eyes. I walked over to see if he was alright; his head lolled to the other side and he mumbled something.

"What was that?" I asked, getting closer.

He lifted his head a bit, dropped it again, then said, "Spank the bear."

Despite myself, I smiled a little. "Is that some kind of innuendo?" He'd obviously gotten a full blast of whatever had caused that weird white smoke to fill the lab. So he managed to inadvertently get high again, no big deal, right?

Trunks didn't respond. I asked if he was okay.

His eyes rolled back in his head.

"Trunks?"

Then he fell off his stool and crumpled onto a heap on the floor.

"Trunks!?"

I knelt down next to him. I tried shaking him awake. He didn't move.

I shook him harder.

Then he stopped breathing.

You know those moments when your world just _stops_? You know, everything gets really still and quiet, and for a few seconds you are completely calm, because you're just _too fucking scared_ to panic. And then comes that horrible, horrible moment when everything picks up again, and the world starts turning, and the panic you've been holding off for, oh, all of two seconds, it settles in.

I screamed. I screamed, I shook him, I told him to wake the fuck up, and he didn't respond.

I've been afraid before—like the first time I turned into a Super Saiyan and had no clue what was happening to me, or when I was fighting Majin Buu—but I can honestly say that I have _never_ been so scared in my life. Because, fuck, he wasn't responding at all, he wasn't even breathing, and I was too panicked to even check for a pulse.

It's times like this I remember how fucking _surreal_ my life can get. Within a couple of seconds, my dad materialized next to me. I guess he heard my screaming, fuck, the whole _city_ probably heard me screaming, and he came to see what was wrong. So while I was sitting and shrieking to get a doctor, call an ambulance, do SOMETHING, he pulled a senzu bean out from the little satchel he keeps attached to his belt.

I took the bean and lifted Trunks' head. I broke it into several tiny pieces and forced it down his throat, and Kami knows I couldn't start breathing again until _he _did.

But he did. Trunks starting breathing again, blinked a few times, looked from me to my dad to me again, and sat up. Clearly he'd figured out what was going on, because when he pulled off his goggles he said, "Didn't know Senzu beans could cure inhaled drug poisoning."

And then_ my_ heart almost stopped. Because my dad said, "Neither did I." He stood up, then reached down to help Trunks stand. Seemed his legs were a little shaky, but he was fine.

I stood up when, though the fading smoke, I saw Vegeta standing in the doorway of the lab. His arms were folded, he was staring at the three of us, and I if I didn't know any better, I'd say he actually looked worried. "What the _hell_ just happened?"

Even though the question was directed toward Trunks, my dad answered. "Trunks here had a bit of an accident in the lab," he said in his most reassuring tone, the one that says, yes-there-was-a-problem-but-it's-okay-so-don't-panic. He clapped Trunks on the shoulder twice. "But he's fine now, right?" Trunks nodded in agreement.

Vegeta, in trademark fashion, stalked up to Trunks, stared him down (which was awkward considering that Trunks is a good two inches taller than him), and proclaimed, "You're an idiot."

Trunks just nodded. "Duly noted."

Vegeta and my dad looked at each other before walking out of the lab. Vegeta paused for a second, looked back at Trunks and said, again, that Trunks was an idiot, and that he would break both of his son's legs if he ever did something that stupid again. So I guess he really was worried—he just has an odd way of showing affection.

Trunks shook his head and shrugged off his labcoat, letting it fall to the floor. He cleared his throat and said, more to himself than to me, that he needed a glass of water. He started walking upstairs toward the kitchen. I followed after him, mostly to make sure that he wasn't going to collapse down the stairs. He didn't.

He poured himself a glass of water and downed it, quickly. I still hadn't said anything when he looked at me and said, in the most carefree fucking tone, "Alright, note to self. Don't do _that_ again." And he gave me this shit-eating grin and asked if I wanted to head back down to the lab with him.

Like the fucking idiot didn't think anything had happened.

So of course, I whirled on him, asking him what the hell he was doing, why he was messing with potentially deadly chemicals just for fun, why he wouldn't take _any_ precautions with his safety like, I don't know, wearing a _mask_ or _not_ fucking around with said potentially deadly chemicals, when I've fucking TOLD him to be careful.

"Chibi," he said, not even the slightest bit worked up, "I'm _fine_. It's not a big deal."

_Not a big deal. _Every time I think I'm beyond the point where Trunks can surprise me, he goes and proves me wrong. "You stopped breathing."

"And I started again."

"You could have—" my throat closed up. I tried again. "You could have _died_."

"Eh," Trunks shrugged. "Been there, done that."

_Been there, done that!?!?_ What the _FUCK!?_

I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Okay, yes, we've both died before, but how does that make this okay? I was just kind of standing there, dumbly staring at him when he asked me what was wrong.

He actually _asked me what was wrong._

I didn't have anything else to say—anything else I _could_ say—so I flew off.

You know, this isn't like him blasting off my eyebrows, or encouraging Addo to make me up. Because as annoying as that shit is, it's ultimately harmless. It's the kind of thing I bitch about, then get over and/or find a way to get back at him for. And I can honestly see the humor, at least in retrospect. Hell, this isn't even like drunkenly abandoning me to Ava's clutches.

Putting eyeliner on me doesn't leave me shaken up several hours later.

And what's worse was that he _didn't think it was a big deal_. The stupid bastard, he just went about his day like nothing happened. I mean, if I had waited five minutes to head over to Capsule Corp—hell, if I'd decided to heat up my food before eating it—or if my dad hadn't made plans to go sparring with Vegeta, if he hadn't thought to bring a few senzu beans with him, if he hadn't thought to _use_ a senzu bean even though he wasn't sure that it would work . . . if any of a whole host of things had been just a _bit_ different, it might have been too late. It would have been the _stupidest_ way to go, but whether you're killed in an epic battle against evil or in a lab accident, you're _just as dead_.

And it was like Trunks honestly _didn't get_ why I might be upset.

Either that, or he just didn't care.

So I flew home. And because I really needed to talk to _someone_, I ended up calling Nao. I left out the parts about the senzu bean and instant transmission, of course, instead explaining that my dad knew CPR. And then I ranted and raved and hyperventilated just a little, and when Nao asked if I was okay I lied and yes, yes, I'm okay, no, I'm not so shaken up that I've started crying, just tell me what to do, thanks, _no I'm not crying_. Nao 'hmm'ed in response, in that was that says, 'I'm not an idiot, of course I don't believe you, but I'm going to drop it and listen to you.' So I talked nonstop for about fifteen minutes, repeating myself several times over, and Nao just listened.

Nao is usually good at putting things in perspective, reminding me that the things that piss us off on a daily basis are generally not worth getting worked up over. So, when I spoke to him, I expected him to talk me down from my half-shocked fury and lingering panic.

Nao didn't do that. In fact, when I finished talking and he responded, he sounded mad. Nao, infinitely patient Nao, the one who never gets mad at _anything_, the one I've never seen go beyond mildly annoyed, he was actually _angry_ on my behalf. Words he used to describe Trunks behavior were "ridiculous," "selfish," "irresponsible," "stupid," and a whole host of other adjectives I never expected to hear from Nao.

And even though I agreed with him, it was different, hearing it aloud from someone else. When I said as much, he asked, "So what are you going to do about it?"

I said I didn't know. In truth, I did, I just didn't like the answer.

Maybe I should sleep on it.


	28. Entry 28

_Sunday 25 October_

I didn't wake up angry today.

More than anything, when I woke up today, I felt numb. And I felt stupid. Because this is the kind of thing I should have seen coming.

My eyes cracked open. I'm not sure exactly what time it was, but judging from the sunlight coming in through the window, it was probably around mid-morning. Without so much as sitting up, I started replaying yesterday's events in my head.

I guess what surprised me most was the fact that I was surprised. I kicked off my covers and tossed them to the floor. I found myself thinking back to the constant stream of bullshit Trunks sends my way, albeit punctuated by occasional moments of sweetness. All the fucking headaches he's been giving me lately.

I just wanted to think about something else. But the problem with dating someone you've known since before you can even remember, is that _everything_ reminds you of him. I toss around in my bed, and I remember him drunkenly collapsing next to me on my last birthday. I look out my window to the woods out back, and I think about the training games we used to play. I go to get dressed, and I swear I smell him in my clothing.

So I didn't bother to get dressed.

For a long time, I just sat on my bed wearing nothing but my boxers and...thought. I thought of all the times he's gone out of his way to mess with me, just because he could. All the times I put up with his bullshit and just tried to let it go. I thought about how he's reacted to my being worried about him, even before yesterday. Like when he got injured on Monday. Or when he accidentally drugged himself up on his birthday. Or the many, _many_ times he's had too much to drink and still refused to listen when I've asked him to slow down.

Maybe his completely screwy home life left him more fucked up than I thought. Trunks always got us into trouble as kids, but it was never so, I dunno, cold. So thoughtless.

And I thought back to what Nao called him yesterday. Stupid. _Selfish._ Except that doesn't seem quite right. He's not selfish, exactly. He can be really sweet sometimes. He's more...self-centered, I guess. And it isn't just with me. I can't get over how he handled—or, more like, didn't handle—Addo's crush on him.

I guess, somewhere along the way, he stopped caring. He stopped trying.

And I've gotta wonder, when did Trunks get like this? When did he stop caring what he did to me? What happened to the kid that helped me keep it together in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, after I'd lost just about everyone I cared about to Buu? What happened to the boy that got me through that first, awful time I transformed into a Super Saiyan?

What happened to my best friend?

And that's what it comes down to. I'm starting to think I'm with Trunks by default more than anything else. Because we're "made for each other," as Addo so brilliantly put it. I've been clinging to an image of someone that didn't exist anymore. Someone that probably hadn't existed for a long time, while I've been too fucking stubborn or blind or stupid to notice. I mean, yeah, I care about him, and I'm pretty sure on some level he does too, but. . .

Our relationship isn't healthy. It really should have been obvious, but it wasn't. Because I may love him, but I can't spend every day wondering what stupid stunt he's going to pull next. It's not worth the stress, and it's not worth the constant anxiety.

And I'm getting really, _really_ sick of being pissed off all the time.

I finally acknowledged what it was I was probably going to do the next time I saw or spoke to him. And, shit, how is it that a thought can make you feel both better and worse at the same time?

God, Goten, what did you expect? To stay with your first boyfriend forever? Get married, adopt Pan a couple of cousins, grow old together? Just because your parents have been together since they were eleven—just because your big brother married _his_ high school girlfriend—doesn't mean you were gonna do the same thing.

I'm so fucking stupid.

I rolled out of bed again as my cell phone rang and pulled it out of my backpack. Three fucking guesses whose number was on the caller I.D. I didn't answer—I just shut it off and tossed it to the floor, doing my best to ignore the Capsule Corp logo etched on the back. I told myself that I was still too angry to talk to Trunks. The truth was that I was trying to hold off the inevitable. Because I knew what I would say if I picked up.

Pretty pathetic, huh?

I was more than happy to spend the day wallowing in self-pity wearing nothing but my boxers, but my mom had other plans. She knocked on my door and, without waiting for an answer, barged in.

"Goten! It's almost noon! What are you still doing as—" She cut herself off, seeing that I was actually awake and sitting up half-naked on my unmade bed. "Uh," she said, switching from angry to confused. "How long have you been up?"

I shrugged. "A couple of hours, maybe."

She shot me a confused frown. "You didn't come down for breakfast."

I shook my head. "Wasn't hungry."

She was at my bed in half a second, sitting at the edge of my mattress and pressing the back of her hand against my forehead.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she moved down her hands so her palms pressed against my cheeks.

"Are you sick?" she asked, sounding equal parts shocked and worried.

I pushed her hands off my face. "Funny." I plopped back down onto my bed, resting my hands under my head. "I'm just not hungry."

"Sweetheart," she said in her most concerned-mom-voice, "are you alright?"

I shrugged, which is a pretty awkward gesture when you're lying down. "I just wanna be alone right now, okay?"

"Goten," she said in that same concerned tone. "What's wrong?"

I flipped around on my bed and buried my face in my pillow. "I don't want to talk about it," I said around a mouthful of pillowcase.

"Goten." She immediately switched from concerned-mom to the dreaded stern-mom tone. "You can't just spend the whole day with your face pressed into your bed."

"Watch me," I said—or, at least, tried to say. It probably came out more like "wfff mfm."

"Goten . . ." She was quickly approaching the danger-zone of the angry-mom-voice. And since it looked like I wouldn't get a moment's peace like this, I bolted upright, asked her to get out while I got dressed, and dragged myself over to my closet.

There was one way to avoid the Trunks-smell problem. A bunch of Gohan's old clothes were sitting at the very back of the closet, so I grabbed a worn-down pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt. The pants fit okay—I just had to roll up the bottoms a little. My brother shot up like a beanstalk when he was about fifteen, so he was a couple of inches taller than me as a teenager. Lucky bastard.

My stomach growled at me and my head was starting to ache, so I knew that I was in theory pretty hungry, but I didn't feel like actually eating anything. Besides, I didn't really want to deal with my mom's annoying—well-intentioned, understandable, sure, but still fucking irritating—questions, so I climbed out my window.

It was sunny and warm. Probably one of the last nice days we're going to get this fall. I flew out past the woods, landing near that same craggy mountain ridge I once punched my way through. I sat down on the dry dirt, next to a big, smooth boulder. The sun was beating down on my back, heating up Goten's shirt to just-past comfortable. I was focusing very hard on not-focusing when something landed next to me on the boulder. I turned to my right to see, of all things, a young pterodactyl.

We stared each other down for a bit before I spoke to it. "Go away." It cocked its head to one side, clearly not understanding.

"Go away," I repeated. It kept looking at me.

I glared at it. "Hey." I raised my bangs, pointing at the scar on my forehead. "I don't need your mommy coming after me, okay?"

The pterodactyl was obviously not especially concerned for my well-being. I finally rolled my eyes and shot a small energy blast out of my finger at the rock. Not enough to do any real damage, or even crack the boulder, just enough to give the damn dinosaur a little scare. It worked; it flew off a split second later.

On another day, I might have felt guilty about scaring a baby animal. Forgive my apathy.

It wasn't long before I heard someone land behind me. I didn't have to turn around to see who it was.

My dad cleared his throat behind me before stepping up to my left. "Are you feeling okay?"

I nodded, shook my head, then nodded again. "Mom asked me the same thing."

"Well," he said with a small laugh, "the last time you said you weren't hungry was when you were six and had a fever of a hundred-and-three. I'm pretty sure you were convinced that Gohan had three heads."

For a guy who was dead until I was seven, he sure does know a lot about my childhood.

"Is it Trunks?"

I didn't have it in me to lie. "More or less."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

That struck me as kind of odd. We don't usually talk about this kind of thing. If his marriage is any indication, my dad is baffled enough by relationships with _women_. And beside that, I didn't really fell like talking. So I shook my head and just kept staring out toward the horizon.

My dad sat next to me on the ground. When I turned my head to look at him, I couldn't help noticing that he was sitting the exact same way I was. My mom's told me since I was a little kid, since before I knew him, that I inherited more than my dad's face and hair. She says I also got his appetite—which she bemoans constantly—and a lot of his mannerisms. I finally saw what she was talking about; my dad's arms were propped behind him, palms splayed out on the dirt, right leg outstretched, left knee bent up slightly. Our posture was identical.

"You know," he said after a few minutes, "your mom and I got married when we were Trunks' age."

"Yeah," I said, still staring at him. "I know." I sighed a little, and said I didn't really think it was the same thing.

He suddenly sat up straight. Before I knew it, he started to laugh. When I asked what was up, he said, "I wasn't going to say it's the same thing. I was going to say I couldn't _possibly_ know what it's like for you. So I can understand if you don't want my advice."

"It's not that," I said. "It's just . . ." I trailed off. It's just what? That Trunks is a guy? That he's part Saiyan? That he's a very special brand of crazy—one that's quite different from my mother's very special brand of crazy?

My dad seemed to answer my question for me. "It isn't just that Trunks isn't exactly a girl. Your mom and I were engaged at eleven and married at eighteen. We both grew up in the country. We never dealt with high school or other teenagers." He laughed again. "Your brother came to ask me what I thought of him proposing to Videl. I had no idea how proposals even _worked._ You should have seen the look on his face when he tried to explain engagement rings to me."

I smiled at the mental image. Then I paused. "So you think I should talk to Gohan about this?" That seemed like it would be even more uncomfortable than trying to explain the whole situation to my dad.

"Only if you want to." He shrugged. "But it's probably not a bad idea. I figure if Gohan can handle an unplanned pregnancy, his advice might be more useful than mine."

It wasn't surprising that my dad knew about Pan being an accident. After all this time, Gohan still tells my dad, well, everything. I don't get how my brother can be so open all the time—doesn't every guy need his secrets?

Then again, I guess my dad's the same way.

I shook my head. No, I told him, I didn't really want to talk to Gohan. It's not that I didn't trust him; hell, it's not even that I didn't think he'd understand. It's more that the last thing I needed was to have my relationship compared to his. Even as I sat in the dirt in his old jeans, that was something I just didn't want to deal with.

My dad hummed to himself before saying, "It's tough sometimes. Having a kid that's so much smarter than you are."

I laughed. Yeah, I said, Gohan's a grade-A nerd (and loving it). The smile fell from my dad's face.

"I was talking about you."

"Me?" I shook my head. "Naw, Gohan's the brains in the family."

My dad rolled his eyes—something I don't think I've ever seen him do before. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. My mom likes to complain that Trunks is a bad influence on her son; I don't think she's ever considered the possibility that her son would, in turn, be a bad influence on her husband.

Then he said, "You both are. I've read some of your old lit essays, the ones your mom held on to. Know how I know they're good?"

I laughed again. "You couldn't understand them?"

"Naw," he said. "Because I _could_. I'm not exactly the world's biggest reader, and I could still follow everything you were talking about. And you made me want to keep reading."

I looked away. I tried to hide the grin on my face. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. And trust me, that isn't easy. If you're this good already, you're going to be a hell of a writer by the time you get out of college."

As much as I appreciated the ego boost, I had to ask what he was getting at, and what this had to do with my insane boyfriend.

"What I'm getting at is, I'm not going to be able to tell you anything you don't already know. You and your brother are both _thinkers_—you think things through. Kami knows you don't get that from me. I'm sure as hell not going to be able to give you any answers."

"Great," I said, looking back out toward the horizon.

"But you won't get anywhere without asking yourself the right questions."

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "Which are?"

"I don't know exactly what's going on with you and Trunks, and I don't think I _need_ to know. I'm guessing you're going though something more than a rough patch." He looked at me. I kept listening, then realized that he was waiting for some sort of response, so I nodded. Then he continued.

"I guess what you need to ask yourself is if it's worth working through."

I swallowed loudly before I asked my next question. "And what if it isn't?"

My dad gave me a sympathetic smile. "I think you already know the answer to that, son."

And there it was. So much for being dumber than his kids; my dad might act like a complete goof, but he isn't _half_ as stupid as he comes across. But I already knew that.

He was right. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but he was completely right. I couldn't ask Nao or Gohan what to do. I had to do what was right for me.

"I'll see you back at the house. Make sure you're home for dinner, or your mom really _will_ worry."

"Yeah." I chewed on my lower lip for a second, looking up at him as he stood up. "Uh . . . thanks for the talk, Dad."

He grinned. "Always." And with that, he flew back toward the house.

I stared after him until he disappeared from sight. _Always_. I wanted it to be true. I _wish_ it were true. I wish I could say that he's always been there for me.

I wish I knew why he chose to stay away so long.


	29. Entry 29

_Monday 26 October_

It's official. Pigs have flown. Hell has frozen over. The world has stopped spinning on its axis.

Trunks apologized.

That's right, Trunks apologized. Trunks Briefs apologized. Trunks I-am-always-right-so-stop-worrying _fucking Briefs_ apologized.

God, that feels weird to write out.

And what, you may ask, led to this truly earth-shattering turn of events? Well, let's start of with the beginning of school today. Since I was completely, utterly Not Ready for the upcoming Big Scary Talk, I spent the better part of the morning _really_ fucking glad that I'm a year younger than Trunks. Not having classes with him meant I'd have a much easier time avoiding him all day.

Of course, one person I could not avoid was Dia. While Nao had the good sense not to ask any questions—even if he _did_ keep shooting me these concerned are-you-okay-do-you-need-to-talk glances throughout calculus—Dia, like Trunks, has no such common-sense filter. So as I walked out of our literature class, Dia scrambled to catch up with me, pulled me aside, and asked if I was doing alright.

I frowned at her. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"

She struggled to balance her backpack, which looked far too big and heavy for her tiny frame. "Look," she said, trying to keep her books from tumbling out of her bag, "I know what happened on Saturday."

I sighed. "Trunks told you."

"Yes. And for what it's worth, Trunks is a complete idiot. Told him as much. Loudly. For the better part of an hour."

"Surprised he didn't hang up on you," I said, rolling my eyes.

"He couldn't." She smirked a bit at me. "I went over to his house and sat him down at his desk while I yelled at him."

I dared to hope. "So you're not going to tell me to go talk to him?"

"Nope. And he didn't ask me to."

"Really?"

And then she said: "Which is why you _should_ go talk to him. He is really broken up about this whole thing."

I gave Dia my best weary glare. "I thought you just said you weren't going to—"

"I'm not _telling_ you to do anything," she cut me off. "I'm making a suggestion." Like there's such a big fucking difference. And I thought, shit, how could I forget? Dia is, first and foremost, Trunks' friend.

I'm just the guy he's been fucking.

The last thing I wanted was to get into an argument. "Dia, I know you mean well, but could you butt out of this?"

She seemed committed to ignoring whatever I was saying. "Look I went over to his house, sat him down, and spent, oh, about fifty minutes yelling at him and telling him what a colossal, moronic dickweed he was. And the whole time he just sat there and nodded. He didn't argue with me, he didn't defend himself, he didn't say you were blowing this all out of proportion." She paused, putting her hands on her hips. "Does that sound like Trunks to you?"

And she was right. That _didn't _sound like Trunks. I could have admitted as much; instead, what came out of my mouth was that I needed to get to my history class.

She put up her hands. "Fair enough," she said, readjusting her backpack straps. "Just think about it, okay?" She turned around and started bolting her way down to the other end of the school before I could respond. So I rubbed my temples, hoped that she wouldn't bring this up again, and made my way towards history.

As you can imagine, I was feeling pretty antsy throughout class. I must have been visibly agitated, considering Nao's constant concerned glances in my direction. Of course, those looks of concern only managed to leave me more agitated and antsy, which in turn probably left Nao more concerned, and . . . it's a vicious cycle.

Given all that, it shouldn't come as a surprise how quickly I lost it once I got to art class. I'd been hoping, praying that we'd be left alone to paint or work on our sketchbooks, but no. Because as soon as I sat down at my stool, Ms. Shi passed out a stack of forms to the class. Labeled at the top—"Semester Project Status Report."

I blinked three times as I reread the instructions on the sheet over and over. She was asking for a three-page description of our "aesthetic conception," "theoretical underpinnings," and, I shit you not, "_spiritual inspiration_." All in the next fifty-five minutes. She was all but presuming that our projects were already done and ready to be turned in.

Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if she had given _any_ indication before today that she'd want these reports. A bunch of my classmates started muttering to themselves; I, on the other hand, am an idiot who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. So I sputtered at the page for a couple of minutes, and as soon as Ms. Shi took a seat on top of her desk (why does she even have a goddamn chair?), said: "But the project isn't due for another two weeks!" I didn't bring up that I hadn't actually _started_ mine yet.

Ms. Shi gave me that same high-looking smile she's always giving her students. "Ah, Mr. Son," she said in that affected, wispy voice, "art is just as much about the process as the product."

"The process." I shook my head. "You really could have told us about this when you _assigned the project_."

"Mr. Son." She frowned at me and wagged a finger in my direction. "There's no need to raise your voice. You are disrupting the creative energy of this room."

Now, I've had to stand still as a statute for half an hour. I've had to sit in a dark, incense-filled classroom and try to meditate over the sound of an asthmatic classmate. I've been _given detention _for daring to disturb Ms. Shi's precious artistic spirit. But, god, even I have a breaking point.

So being the calm, collected individual that I am, I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the nearest trash can. "Fuck. This." I grabbed my backpack and started walking out of the room.

"Mr. Son! What are you doing?"

I glowered at her as I looked back. "Consider this performance art!" I slammed the door behind me on my way out.

I was halfway to my locker when I realized that, shit, I just yelled at and walked out on a teacher. I was three-quarters of the way to my locker when I decided to accept whatever punishment was going to be meted out and ditch the rest of my classes. And I was all of ten feet from my locker when I saw that Trunks was sitting on the floor, blocking it.

I saw red. This wasn't the first time Trunks had camped out in front of my locker to keep me from being able to avoid him, but goddamnit it was going to be the last. I took three deep, deep breaths, forced myself to _slooooowly_ exhale through my nostrils, and walked up to him.

I glared down at him. "Move it."

"No," Trunks said without standing up. "We need to talk."

"No, _I _need to get to my locker." I was speaking through a clenched jaw at this point. "Fuck, have you been camped out here all morning?"

"Just since second period. I was hoping to catch you here." Trunks paused, looking down and started fiddling with his right thumbnail. "You didn't answer any of my calls yesterday. And you weren't around this morning."

"Astute observation."

He looked back up at me. "Seemed like you've been avoiding me."

"Wher_ever_ could you get _that_ idea?"

He wasn't getting the message. "Goten—"

"Now _move_ before I _make you_ move." I glowered at him and powered up a bit—not enough to have any visible effects, but enough that Trunks would definitely sense the spike in my _ki._

He finally complied, scooting over all of a foot so I could open my locker. He kept staring up at me, looking for all the world like some wounded puppy. I'd started digging through my locker, grabbing whatever books I'd need for the evening, when he began again. "Please, Chibi—"

Of all the things that could have set me off, that was what did it. That cutesy old nickname, the one that he uses when he's trying to be affectionate, it just got me so pissed off. So I abandoned my original plan of ignoring him and decided, fine, if he wanted me to talk to him, I was going to tell him _exactly_ what I thought of him right then.

I slammed my locker shut, denting it, and glared down at him. "_Fuck. You._"

His eyes widened. "Chibi—"

"Of all the things I put up with from you—"

"I know—"

"You had me fucking _terrified_ and you didn't even _give a shit_—"

"I'm _sorry_."

The "Go to hell" I was about to spit out died on my lips. Instead I blinked at him, shook my head, and tried to make sure I'd heard him right. "What? You're . . . what now?"

He continued to stare up at me. "I screwed up so, so bad. And I'm sorry."

"You're sorry."

He nodded. I took another deep breath to keep myself from yelling. "And what if sorry isn't enough?"

"Then it's not enough. Just hear me out first, okay?"

Here's the thing. All this time, I've wanted nothing more than to hear Trunks actually own up to his mistakes. Just fucking once. But right then, even if he was completely sincere, I still didn't want to hear him out. I'd gotten sick of it.

And then the bastard just had to look down at the floor, and before I could say no, I'm sorry, it's over, it's just not worth the stress, he asked me in the _saddest_ voice: "Please?"

So I swallowed, I nodded, and I let him say his piece.

"Goten, the reason I acted the way I did was because _I _was freaked out too, okay?" He kept looking at the floor, picking at his fingernails and speaking quietly. "I was freaked out, and I didn't want you to know. So I brushed it off." He paused for a moment; I could hear the gears in his head turning. "Between the earth-shattering superpowers and being on a first-name basis with God, it's pretty easy to start feeling invincible. Saturday was . . . a really unpleasant reminder. I didn't want to think about it."

"So you were scared." And it seems so obvious now, but it never struck me at the time that he might have actually been as afraid as I was.

"Right before I passed out . . . I felt it. I could feel my chest tighten up." He looked back up at me. "I mean, I was high as a kite, and I could still tell what was happening. Fuck yes, I was scared."

I kept looking at him. For the first time in ages, his guard was down. He was an eighteen-year-old boy, trying to process the fact that he'd—unexpectedly and in the most _ridiculous_ of circumstances—been forced to confront his own mortality.

And, yeah, he actually gave a damn.

I broke eye contact with him. "It's _me._ Why couldn't you tell me you were scared?"

"I don't know," he said. "I just—I've always been the one on top of things. I'm the one who's supposed to reassure _you_, you know?"

I bit back a comment about his massive ego. Instead I just said, "I'm not a little kid anymore. Neither are you." He nodded. I finally sat down next to him, leaning back against my locker.

We sat like that for a while. It was bizarre hearing the halls of the school so quiet. A few minutes passed before I looked at Trunks out of the corner of my right eye and started talking again.

"You don't get it." I tried to keep my voice even. I think I was mostly successful. "You actually stopped breathing for a minute there."

He nodded. "I know."

"It's just . . ." I'd like to pretend I didn't get choked up. "God, Trunks, do you know what that would _do_ to me?"

So he said it again. "I'm sorry, Chibi." He moved closer to me, put an arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm so sorry."

I half-smiled as I leaned against him. "What happened to choking to death on the words 'I'm sorry'?"

"Yeah, well, after almost choking to death for _real_, I've reconsidered."

I didn't want to laugh, but I did anyway. It wasn't funny . . . but it was. "I do realize that we've both been dead before. And I know we could theoretically wish you back—"

He cut me off. "No we couldn't."

"What now?"

"Well, you'd have to go to Namek to do it. Shenlong can't grant the same wish twice."

"What are you talking about? Porunga was the one who brought us all back when we died."

"Not what I mean." He shook his head. "Remember what my mom told us about the Cell games? About that teenaged version of me that came from the future?"

"Yeah?" I asked, wondering what the hell he was getting at.

"Cell killed him. The others wished him back with the Dragonballs. There's a good chance Shenlong wouldn't be able to bring me back if I died."

"Wow." I drew back from him a little. "You're such a fucking idiot."

"No arguments here." He shot me a lopsided half-smile. "I love you. You know that right?" I nodded. He doesn't say it often, but he really makes it count when he does.

"You do know that if you ever pull anything like that again, I will dump you faster than you can say 'spank the bear,' right?"

He smiled at me. "I'd deserve it."

I leaned back against him again. "It's not just Saturday. You've been a complete ass."

"I know."

So I finally asked the question I should have posed weeks ago. "What's wrong with you lately?"

Trunks shrugged, which felt a bit weird since my head was still on his shoulder. "A subconscious attempt to sabotage our relationship borne of a pathological fear of commitment?"

I sat up straight. "Seriously?"

"Probably not." He shook his head. "Mostly just me being a spoiled brat, I guess."

I asked where this new, self-aware Trunks had come from. He just shrugged and said it was my fault—"You bring out the worst in me, Chibi."

"So what's been up? Really?"

"I dunno. It's just been." He stumbled over the words again. "Kami, Goten, somewhere along the way you became a better fighter than me—"

"I am not," I interrupted.

"Fine, more versatile at least. And you're so into this whole art thing, which goes completely over my head. Fuck, you're _taller than me._" He bit down on his lip. "Look, this might sound crazy, but it's like you don't need me anymore."

I thought for a minute, trying to gather the right words. "It doesn't sound crazy, Trunks."

"Really?"

"No, it just sounds stupid." Trunks turned a little red. "I never _needed_ you, idiot. I love you. There _is_ a difference."

"I guess."

I frowned at him as I watched him quietly chewing on his lower lip. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"Kind of."

"What?"

"I've . . . sort of been wondering if it makes sense to keep dating. Once I'm out of high school and you . . . aren't."

For the third time that day, he'd thrown me for a total loop. "What?"

He folded his arms, the same way he always does when he wants to close himself off a little. It's how you know he's feeling vulnerable. "Do you really want to break up when I graduate?"

It was weird. Because I'm used to thinking about stuff like, I don't know, having to step up to help save the world again, or Trunks triggering a nuclear apocalypse in his lab, or someone finding out about the fact that I'm not exactly human. And this was just such a _normal_ thing to worry about.

"I was joking about not wanting to put up with your crazy ass for another four years."

"Yeah?"

"Mostly joking, anyway." I paused. "Well, _partly_ joking. I think."

"Uh huh."

I snorted a little. "Though, to be honest, I was about two steps away from giving that hot drummer a call."

"The one from my birthday party? You got his number?" I nodded. He clapped me on the back, grinned and said, "Damn. Well done."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You're not upset?"

"No, I'm impressed." He started rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then said, "Maybe you should call him anyway. See if he wouldn't mind joining the both of us."

My eyebrows shot up. I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. He stared back, his expression completely blank. Then, at the exact same instant, we both broke. We started laughing. Not just a chuckle or a giggle—real, loud, hysterical laughter, the kind that leaves your sides hurting and your face streaked with tears. Anyone who could hear us in a nearby classroom must have thought we were both nuts.

And there it was. Even at our most tense, we could still manage to make each other laugh.

Now, dating your best friend, it's definitely complicated. Especially when that best friend is a perverted, impulsive half-alien mad scientist. As I sat there wiping my face, trying to calm down, I thought about the advice my dad gave me yesterday. The question of whether our relationship was worth the time and effort of working through all the tensions we'd been facing lately.

Twenty-four hours ago, I probably would have said no. I mean, Trunks really is immature and irresponsible. He's kind of a jerk. But he loves me enough to swallow his pride, own up, say he's sorry, and promise to work on it. By apologizing—by _finally_ owning up—he's shown that he's willing to try. And that means that he's worth giving another chance.

Even if he is walking on very, very thin ice.

We both decided to ditch our afternoon classes, so we made sure to be out of the building before the bell rang for lunch. As we pulled out of the school parking lot, Trunks started talking again.

"There is one other thing," he began.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. At Dia's party."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at me as we pulled up to a red light. "About you liking it when Ava hits on you. I mean, even if it is a little bit flattering, that was unfair of me to say. I know how frustrated you get with her."

I kept looking ahead of us. "Green light." I didn't say anything more as he stepped on the gas. After what happened on Saturday, I'd honestly forgotten about Ava. I mean, my boyfriend almost killed himself; the hell do I care about some obsessive girl?

We were pretty quiet the rest of the drive back to Trunks' house. We pulled into the driveway, walked in though the back, and went to the living room. Trunks opened up Lord Featherton's cage. The pigeon cooed a bit, but didn't fly out; he just sat on his perch as Trunks grabbed his water bottle. I sat on the couch while Trunks went to the kitchen to refill it, then replaced it in the cage.

The silence, while it wasn't uncomfortable exactly, did feel oddly . . . heavy. So I said the first thing that happened to pop into my head. "On the plus side, it's nice to get out of afternoon classes. I _hate_ gym."

"Why?" Trunks asked, closing up his pigeon's cage. "It's ridiculously easy."

Now, the gap in our power levels has shrunk pretty dramatically over the years, but that's one area he's still got me beat. Truth is, Trunks has always been better at holding back than me. I tried not to sound to bitter when I explained myself. "I don't particularly like having to force myself to slow down and pretend I'm getting tired from a two-mile run."

That's when Vegeta, the Prince of Well-Timed Entrances, walked into the living room. Judging from the clothes, my guess is that he had been training all morning. He'd apparently caught the tail-end of our conversation, because the first thing he said was, "You shouldn't hide your true strength." Of course Vegeta didn't make a comment about the fact that we've obviously ditched school halfway through the day. He doesn't think much of human educational systems.

"Yes, Dad," Trunks said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We should totally let everyone know we're half-alien." He snapped his fingers and grinned. "Oh, I know! Maybe we can spend the day powered up as Super Saiyans! Because _no one_ is going to think the cosmic super-strength and the glowing bodies are weird at _all._"

Vegeta's head snapped back toward Trunks. "What was that?" he said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

The smile fell from Trunks' face. I swear upon my non-existent womb, he actually _squeaked_ his response. "Nothing, Father."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes and huffed a little, but didn't say anything more. I heard Trunks let out a sigh of relief as his father went upstairs, presumably to change out of his training clothed.

Trunks waited until he heard Vegeta's bedroom door shut. "You know Chibi, I think I liked it better when he ignored me."

I rolled my eyes at him. "No you didn't."

Trunks lowered his head, shaking a few stray strands of hair into his face. "No. I didn't."


	30. Entry 30

_Tuesday 27 October_

My name is Son Goten, and I am an asshole.

Just when things are starting to go smoothly, for _once_, something has to go down. And what's worse is that this time, it was my own damn fault.

Let's back up a bit, let's set up my utter assholery. To start off, I should say that it looks like Trunks is really trying—yes, it's been all of a day, and yes, we still have a ton of issues to work through, but it seems things are moving in the right direction. We were up half the night talking yesterday. About his insensitivity, about my tendency to overreact. About his pushiness and my passivity. About whether we could really stay together when he went off to university—not so much because of the physical distance, since it's easy enough for one of us to get from one side of the planet to the other, but whether it made sense to tether ourselves like that. I mean, we didn't come up with any answers, but at least we're asking the right questions.

Yeah, things were looking up, but we're still in the middle of a rough patch. So you can imagine how fucking happy I was when, while I was stopped at my locker before heading over to meet up with Trunks for lunch today, I got sidetracked by Ava.

So here's how it went down:

**11:55:** Get out of art class. Walk down the hallway, grumbling to myself about being subjected to another afternoon of detention with my cuckoo bird of an art teacher.

**11:56:** Realize that, considering I yelled at and walked out of class yesterday, the consequences could have been a lot worse than detention.

**11:57:** Decide that this gives me no solace. One afternoon spent with Ms. Shi is one too many. Am decidedly pissed off at the world.

**11:58:** Hear that high, squeaky, shrill voice, the one that haunts my dreams, call out to me in the hallway. Decide to ignore it and walk faster.

**11:58:30:** Hear the clacking of high heels as they run along the tile.

**11:59:** Feel Ava's cold, long-nailed hand on my shoulder. Turn around and ask her what she wants.

**11:59:10:** "Oh, it's just that we haven't spoken since the party on Friday."

**11:59:14:** "Wow, wonder why that is."

**11:59:19:** "So, do you want to grab lunch?"

**11:59:23:** "No, I'm going to meet up with Trunks."

**11:59:28:** "Aww, _why_?"

**11:59:30:** "Because he's my _boyfriend_, maybe?"

**11:59:33:** "Alright, do you want to be lab partners in chemistry today?"

**11:59:40:** "No. No, I would not."

**11:59:43:** "Well, are you free after school?"

**11:59:47:** "Ava, no. I don't want to meet up after school. I don't want to hang out, alright?" I turn around to leave.

**11:59:54:** She stomps her foot against the tile. "God, Goten, _why not!?_"

**Noon:** The Meltdown.

I don't know why it happened like this. Maybe it's that I was still feeling tense because of what happened this past weekend. Maybe I was angry because I'd just started to work things out with Trunks, and Ava was ready to jeopardize that. Maybe it was just the sleep deprivation. But whatever the reason, when Ava started flirting with me today, I just lost it.

And I lost it loudly.

I kept looking ahead as she tapped one high heel on the floor. "God. Fucking. Damnit."

She went from irritated to confused. "Huh?"

I turned around to face her. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm serious." I took a deep breath. I realize now that I was getting louder with each word. "What the _flying fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"I—" I cut her off. I'd spent almost a year dealing with her shit. I was done listening. And I was done being polite.

"I am _gay._ I am _taken._ And even if I were single and straight as an arrow, I wouldn't go for the kind of pathetic _ditz_ that spends her days lusting after a _gay guy._"

She kept staring at me, her eyes wide. I should have left it there and walked away. But, you know, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the time. So I kept going.

"I don't know how I can make this any clearer, you boring, obnoxious, annoying, _airheaded bitch_. I don't want to date you. I don't like you like that. I don't like you _at all!_ Now leave me the fuck alone and get a life!"

"I...Goten..."

I moved right into her face. I spoke quieter this time. "Get. A. Fucking. Life."

And then she proceeded to do absolutely the meanest, most awful thing a girl can do.

She started to cry.

I stepped back, just a couple of feet, and she turned around and tore down the hallway. Naturally, that's when I remembered that we were standing in the middle of our school. I finally realized how loud I'd actually gotten . . . and that we'd gathered a pretty large audience.

The students cleared a path for me when I went out into the courtyard. It's weird, coming down from an anger-induced adrenaline rush; everything seems a lot quieter, you get this weird pounding in your head, and the whole world seems to slow down just a little.

It's not a good feeling.

I tried to ignore my classmates staring at me as I stepped outside to meet up with Trunks. It was sunny, even if it was a little cold, and Trunks and I had decided that we wanted the privacy. He was sitting at that stupid stone table in the middle the courtyard when I got there. He turned to me—it looks like he was about to ask why I was late, but he cut himself off when he saw the look on my face.

He frowned. "What happened."

I sighed, setting down my backpack and sitting across from him. "I told Ava off."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Think she'll stop hitting on you now?"

"No. I mean, yeah. I mean..." I trailed off, replaying every horrible thing I'd screamed at her. "Well, shit."

"Goten," he said, switching right over from confused to concerned, "what happened?"

"I screamed at her. In the middle of the hallway. With everyone watching."

"That..." Trunks bit down on his lower lip. "That probably wasn't the ideal way to handle the situation."

I'm not sure if he was being insensitive or trying to lighten my mood; either way, I wasn't in the mood for Trunks' flair for understatement. So I just shrugged, said "yeah," and started picking at my lunch. He seemed to sense I didn't want to talk about it, so we finished our lunches in silence.

I found myself wishing for what had to be the millionth time that Ava and I weren't in the same chemistry class. I walked to class with what I think was an appropriate amount of dread. Turns out I didn't have to worry; Ava ended up skipping class. Which, you know, made me feel even worse about the whole situation, but at least I'd have to gather my thoughts before seeing her again.

I figured I could just head back to Capsule Corp and deal with it tomorrow. But, no, I forgot that Dia is (1) in my gym class, (2) one of Ava's best friends, and (3) completely shameless about coming into the boy's locker room. I was changing back into my street clothes when Dia burst in, paying no mind to the rows of smelly, half-naked boys.

She stomped up to me and glared at me. "What the fuck, Goten!?"

I sighed. "Dia, this is the _boy's_ locker room."

"I don't care. We need to talk."

"Fine, fine," I said, ignoring the group of guys as they stared at us. "Just let me get a shirt on, okay?" She nodded and folded her arms at me; she apparently didn't get that I wanted her to wait _outside _the locker room (or, more likely, didn't particularly care). I pulled on my shirt, grabbed my bag, and followed her outside.

"Okay," I said once we were in the hallway just outside the gymnasium, "what's up?"

"Oh, you know damn well what's up." She jabbed me in the chest with one bony finger. "How could you scream at Ava like that?"

I winced. "You heard about that?"

"The whole _school_ heard about it!" She folded her arms again and, even though she's at least a foot shorter than me, successfully managed to stare me down. "Look, I know Ava's a ditz. And I know you've been more than patient with her. But did you have to blow up like that in front of everyone? Jeez, Goten, you're supposed to be the _nice_ one."

I could have argued with her, but she was right. It was a pretty terrible thing to do. So I nodded, agreed that I'd fucked up, and asked if she wouldn't mind talking to Ava for me.

She shook her head. "No way. You can fix this yourself."

I bit my lip. "Can you at least give me her phone number?"

"That I can do." She grabbed a sheet of paper from her backpack and scribbled down Ava's number before handing it to me. She shot me one more glare before turning about and making her way toward the main hallway of the school.

I stared at the paper for a couple of minutes. For all the time Ava's tried giving me her number, the digits Dia had scribbled down didn't look the slightest bit familiar. If I hadn't felt guilty before, I sure did now.

I tried calling her as soon as I got out of detention. She hung up as soon as she recognized my voice. I tried again—she didn't even pick up. And isn't _that_ a shitty feeling. And now I gotta wonder, is that what I've been doing to her all this time?

Damn.


	31. Entry 31

_Wednesday 28 October_

Should have known it was going to be one of those days when Trunks had to get _me_ up for school.

He yanked the covers off me and pushed me toward the bathroom. Then he offered to join me in the shower. I wasn't in the mood. He pouted all the way to school.

I expected it to be awkward when I got there. I mean, half my classmates saw me lose it with Ava yesterday. But I was not expecting the whispering from kids I didn't even know, the staring from my fucking _teachers_, and Nao's near-constant are-you-okay looks. Yeah, the same kind he spent all of Monday giving me after Trunks damn near killed himself.

This was, apparently, kind of a big deal.

At first, it struck me as pretty stupid—Ava spends almost a year chasing after me, and no one says a damn word. I blow up at her once, and it's all anyone can talk about.

And then it hit me. I suddenly got why Dia was so pissed off with me. It wasn't just that I'd blown up at Ava in public, when I could have just as easily pulled her aside and given her the same talk. It's that I've had countless opportunities to stop her. I could have—and should have—told her off months ago. You know, before it got to this point. But no, unless it involves punching and _ki_ blasts, I've fucking hate confrontation—with Trunks, with my mother, with fucking anybody. And for all the times over the past year that I've avoided her, run away from her, turned her down, I've never _once_ outright told her to back off.

Fuck, I didn't even do it after she kissed me.

I was too much of a pussy to actually stand up to Ava when I had the chance. After months and months of pursuing me, she had no reason to think I would blow up at her. Yeah, sure, she needed to hear what I told her. But not like that.

And—again—not in front of the whole fucking school.

Kami, did I screw this one up.

Since Ava obviously wouldn't pick up her phone to talk to me—not that I could blame her—I decided to take my chances and try to catch her after chemistry. I followed her at the end of class, shoving my way past my classmates and barely managing to catch up with her on the way out the door.

"Ava, wait up, please." She ignored me. "Ava, _please_, just give me thirty seconds." She kept walking, but I kept pace with her. "Look, I just wanted to apologize about yesterday."

She didn't look at me when she responded. "Please don't talk to me." That's it. Polite. Calm. Cold. And all she wanted was for me was to leave her alone. Two days ago, that would have been a _dream_ scenario.

Today, it made me feel like total shit.

I stopped following after her. I watched her walk away before I turned around and headed down to gym.

Being ignored? Sucks.

So, fast forward to the end of school today. Trunks and I had planned to meet up over by his car, so I was standing around in the parking lot. It was cold and overcast, but Trunks was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes I sat down on the hood of his car. Wasn't long before I found myself thinking back to the party last Friday.

Maybe Trunks was right. Maybe having someone so openly flirting with me—even someone I have no interest in—really was a nice ego boost.

Maybe I didn't want to lose that.

A loud cooing noise brought me back to the present. I turned to my right to see a pigeon sitting on the car next to me. Seemed weird to me—I thought they'd all flown south already. The bird watched me for a little while before I started talking to him.

"So," I began. "Uh . . . you a friend of Lord Featherton?"

The bird didn't respond. He just stared at me, ruffled his wings for a second, and flew off. Couldn't blame him, I guess. Suppose I should just be glad he didn't poop on the car. Or, you know, _me._

I heard a chuckle at my left. I turned to Trunks—he made some crack about my not having his knack for handling pigeons. He also explained that Lord Featherton's crew had, indeed, already flown south. I hopped off the hood of the car and told him to shut up about the fucking pigeons and unlock the car already.

We pulled out of the parking lot in silence. We were halfway home before Trunks spoke again. "Uh, Addo pulled me aside to talk to me after class. That's why I was late."

"What did he say?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Trunks turned to me, taking his eyes off the road for just a second, and gave me a sad smile. "You were right, of course. He does have a thing for me."

I snorted. "Don't tell me you were really surprised."

"I wasn't," he sighed out. "I guess I've just ignored it in hopes that he would, you know. Get over it."

"Come on, he's one of your best friends. You can't expect to just ignore his feelings and hope they'll go away." Me? Projecting? Never. "So what did you tell him?"

"The usual. That I was sorry for jerking him around, that he's an awesome guy, and obviously I think he's attractive, but I'm totally spoken for."

"How'd he handle that?"

"Pretty well, actually. I think he was just glad to get it off his chest. Maybe we can have a slightly less dysfunctional friendship now." He half-smiled at me again. "At least once he decides he can stand being around me again."

I grimaced. "Harsh."

"Yeah. But, you know, if he needs space. Whatever."

I started chewing on my lower lip—another bad habit I've picked up from Trunks. "At least one of us knows how to handle an unrequited crush. I'm starting to think you were right about Ava."

Trunks braked for a red light and turned to look at me. "What do you mean?"

"That part of me did like it when she hit on me."

He glowered at me. "Chibi, you got me to admit I was wrong. You are _not _going to get me to admit to being wrong about being wrong!"

"But I _did_ like it. I must have."

Trunks shook his head. "No you didn't."

"Then why do I feel so bad about the fact that she isn't speaking to me?"

"God, do I have to spell _everything _out for you? You feel bad because you hurt her feelings and embarrassed her."

I swallowed. "Green light."

Trunks put his foot on the accelerator, but kept shooting me glances out of the corner of his eye. "Anyway, I spoke to Dia."

"What about?"

"What the hell do you _think_ about? About what she said to you yesterday. Dia was out of line."

"So you told Dia off for telling me off for telling Ava off."

"Yep. I fully expect Kato to come after me tomorrow."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Listen, Goten," he said, sounding exasperated. "If you ask me, Ava had it coming."

"Yeah," I agreed, "but not in public. I don't regret the telling off so much as the public humiliation, you know?"

"And how many times has she embarrassed you in public?"

He had a point. But what I'd done seemed somehow . . . meaner. "Not like that. And not on purpose."

Trunks shook his head a bit, chuckling quietly, but kept his eyes on the road ahead. "You know the big difference between you and me?"

I couldn't help myself. "Half an inch in height?"

"You're _nice_, Chibi."

"You can be nice."

"To people I _like_, yeah. You think I give a crap if I hurt some random girl's feelings?" I didn't answer—because, truth is, Trunks really _doesn't_ care about how he affects people outside his little inner circle. Which I guess is part of how he can be such a shameless flirt.

"Look," he went on, "you apologized, right?"

"Yeah." I frowned. "Well, I tried anyway."

"Sincerely?"

"I feel awful about it."

"Then she'll get over it," he said confidently. "The whole thing is going to blow over."

"You really think so?"

"Of course. You're the one who's always talking about what a freak show our school is. Something ridiculous is going to happen next week, and everyone's going to forget about your little meltdown."

"And Ava?"

"Probably just needs time to calm down. In the meantime, just be glad she probably won't be chasing after you anymore."

Now, Trunks' smug, superior attitude can get old sometimes. But the truth is that, irresponsibility and insanity aside, he does have a good head on his shoulders. And our talk, it really did help put things in perspective.

When I thanked him for the input, he shrugged and smiled at me—and almost ran his car into a lamppost. As soon as he pulled the car off the curb, he said, "No problem, Chibi." He laughed a little. "One of us has to keep a level head, you know."

I wouldn't say that Trunks is the level-headed one in our relationship. But, when he tries, he's pretty good at coming up with the right thing to say. For all the crap that's gone down lately, I found myself in a better mood. And for the first time in a while, it actually felt like things were going to be okay.

It's a nice change of pace.

On an unrelated note, I should probably stop spending so much time at Capsule Corp. At this rate, my parents might as well start renting out my room.


	32. Entry 32

_Thursday 29 October_

And the shit just keeps piling up.

I can't believe this morning, my biggest concern was whether Ava was ever going to forgive me for calling her out. Like all this stupid high school bullshit actually matters in the long run.

Trunks is downstairs right now, brewing up some tea and checking in with his mom to make sure I can spend the night. Like he really needs to ask anymore. My guess is that he's asking because he knows I'm gonna want to stick around for more than just the night.

I really thought things were going to start getting better. But then I got to lunch today, and things started to unravel, though I sure as hell didn't know it at the time. Anyway, Trunks was sitting with Dia and Kato—guess they'd patched things up after Trunks chewed her out yesterday. As soon as I showed up, they decided to leave us alone—I guess they figured we'd probably want our space. And as much as I like Kato and Dia, I was really glad they got lost.

I said something about swinging by Capsule Corp after class, but Trunks said it might be best if I actually went home after school today. I asked why, I asked if he didn't want to see me and he just said, no, but he could tell I was still pissed. At him, at Ava, at the world in general. And he knew that one of the best ways I have of coping with frustration was training with my dad, so he suggested I go do that, and give him a call afterwards. And shit, I figured Trunks was probably right, so I did just that.

And now I can't unlearn what I've learned.

See, I did meet up with my dad after school to train. I did give Trunks a call after that. But I wasn't any less angry. Only this time, it wasn't Trunks I was angry at.

You know, part of the reason it was always so easy to trust my father, even after his little seven-year-absence, is because I thought he was a lousy liar. So imagine how angry, and shocked, and hurt, and fucking _confused_ I was when I realized how wrong I was. When I found out he's been lying to me every single goddamn day since I've known him.

I shoved an extra shirt and my toothbrush and this froofy-ass journal into my backpack before taking off. Which was stupid, the shirt and the toothbrush anyway, now that I think about it. I mean, I keep so much shit at Capsule Corp, I think half my wardrobe has migrated here over the years.

Anyway, I flew straight here, at top speed, because whatever flaws Trunks might have, he's always been there for me when I've really needed it. Like when Gohan moved away for college, and he talked me down from the irrational nine-year-old fear that I would never see my older brother again. Or all the times he held back when we trained together as little kids, just to make sure he wouldn't really hurt me. Or, hell, the first time I turned into a Super Saiyan, and he managed to bring me back down to earth.

I know this isn't the best way to handle things, but I'm not sure what else to do. I'm sure as hell ditching school tomorrow. More importantly, I don't know how long I'm going to be staying at Capsule Corp.

Because I can't be in my house right now.

I can't be around my _father_ right now.

The short version. The bastard knew about me. My father. He actually knew. That story about how he didn't know about me until he met me? All that pretending that he didn't know I existed until I was seven? A total. fucking. lie.

He knew about me before I was even born. And he's been lying to me _for almost ten years_. Ten years that I spent doing _every fucking thing _I could to be the son he wanted. After seven years of wondering where I'd come from, why I seemed so different from other kids. Wondering who I was.

And he knew about me the whole fucking time.

I can't. I can't deal with this right now. Because, shit, how _do_ you deal with something like this?

My name is Son Goten. And right now, I wish more than anything else that it wasn't.


	33. Entry 33

_Friday 30 October _

Let's take a trip back in time. Ten years should do.

It was always strange to me how Trunks—tough, confident, mischievous Trunks, the one who never listened to _anyone_—seemed to worship the ground his father walked on.

And then my dad showed up. And I _got it_.

When he hugged me that first time—oh god, this sounds so lame—I felt safer and happier and more secure than I could _ever_ remember feeling. And when I first found out that he was coming back, that he was staying, well, it didn't _matter_ that he wasn't around for the first seven years of my life. Because he was there _now_ and he was brave and strong and _perfect_ and he was _mine._ Well, mine and Gohan's, and I knew Gohan missed him like crazy.

Great Kami, did Gohan miss him. There were so many days my brother was a complete wreck, and I was barely old enough to put the pieces together and figure out why. And all those nights I'd come into my mom's room to see her crying over old wedding photos. But as frustrating and as painful as all that was, I honestly never resented him for not being there. I mean, yeah, I was angry, but I wasn't angry at _him_ for staying away. For refusing to be wished back to life.

Until yesterday.

So, I like I already said, I decided yesterday to work out some of that wonderful teen angst that seems to constantly mire my life by training with my father. We flew out to that same mountain range we usually train at, and got to it. We were a few rounds in when my father, who'd been handing my ass to me all morning, yelled at me to duck.

I slipped out of sparring stance for a minute and stared up at him. "What?"

He pointed behind me. "DUCK!" I looked behind me just in time to narrowly avoid being slammed into by a surprisingly fast-moving pterodactyl.

I landed face-down in the dirt, and started grumbling to myself as I stood back up. "Freakin' pterodactyls." I brushed the dust and grime off the front of my shirt. "I swear they're out to get me."

My dad walked up to me and laughed. "Well," he said with a grin, "as long as you don't go around trying to keep its baby as a pet, you should be fine." And he tapped my head through my bangs, right where my scar sits.

My world froze.

I stared at him. I watched at he grinned at me, totally oblivious to the gears turning in my head.

Totally oblivious to how he'd given himself away.

My throat tightened up. I swallowed loudly and managed to choke out a single word. "How?"

The grin on his face fell away. "How what, Goten?"

I took a deep breath. "How could you possibly know that?" Because, shit, even _Trunks_ doesn't know that story.

I could see him try to quell this look of near-panic on his face. "Um . . ." He started scratching at the back of his head. "Your mom told me."

"Mom doesn't _know_ about that." I'd told her years ago that I just fell on a rock. I never told her otherwise. "No one does."

He didn't answer. He just kept scratching at his head, refusing to make eye contact with me.

"Dad, _how did you know?_"

He still wouldn't look at me. And then he said:

"I saw it."

"You saw _what_?" I ground out.

"I saw it happen."

"You...what?" Even though we were outside, it was so damn quiet I could here a pin drop. "How?"

He sighed and looked at me. "You know, in the Otherworld. King Kai let me take a peek from time to time. Turns out I looked in just in time to see it happen."

"Was...was that the first time you saw me?" And suddenly, that was the single most important question in the world. Because I was born a full eight months after he died, and I knew that neither dragon—neither Shenlong nor Porunga—could bring back someone who'd died more than a year before. So I stood there, holding my breath, praying that, yes, that was the first time he saw me. That he didn't find out about me until I was five.

But he shook his head.

So I asked. I asked when he first saw me. And he said, "A couple of days after you were born."

A million questions were rattling around in my mind. The one that came out was, "How often were you looking in?"

"Not that often. But I wanted to make sure you were alright."

My breath caught in my throat. "You wanted what?" I could bring my voice above a harsh whisper. "Did..." I gulped uncomfortably. "Did you know mom was pregnant?"

He looked away from me. "She was about a month along when I died. It was faint, but I could sense your _ki_ growing inside her."

I watched him—watched the face that looked so much like my own—as he looked out beyond the mountain range. And I finally realized how guarded, how secretive he's been all this time.

In an instant, everything clicked into place. The way he didn't even seem remotely surprised when he first met me, the day of the martial arts tournament all those years ago. The way he always seemed to know all about those silly incidents that happened when I was a little kid, back when he was still dead. All those little moments he shouldn't have been able to recall with such crystal clarity.

He _knew_ about me! He fucking _knew_. He knew my mom was pregnant when he went to fight Cell, he knew when I was born, he actually _looked in on me_. He knew he had another kid on the way when he decided to stay in the Otherworld. I was SO FUCKING SURE he had no idea. For years, I kept telling myself that if he knew about me he would have come back, would have asked to come back and _see me_ because I'm his fucking son_._ That maybe, just maybe he'd have realized that it wasn't his time to go yet. That maybe there was something on Earth that was worth sticking around for.

He knew about me. He knew how lost and confused I was without him, and he still fucking stayed away. Stayed dead. I mean, yeah, I had Gohan, and I had Mom, and I had Trunks and, hell, even crazy-ass destroyer-of-worlds Vegeta was around, but it wasn't the same.

Oh, gods, Vegeta and Trunks, there's an example. Don't get me wrong—for a long time, their relationship was pretty screwed up, mainly due to Vegeta being an emotional cripple. But even with all the tension and drama and baggage, they were _there_ for each other. And for all of Trunks' admittedly understandable insecurities about not being good enough, about not being strong enough, about, I dunno, not being enough of a Saiyan, he never _once_ doubted that he had a father. And watching them as a kid, _I_ never doubted that Vegeta would go to hell and back for his son.

...Fuck, he _literally_ went to hell and back for Trunks. While my dad abandoned me for heaven.

So I flew away. Without another word, I flew home, gathered my things, and made my way to Capsule Corp. Because I just couldn't deal with my father. I still can't.

And I have to wonder now, what else did he see? Did he watch as I realized that I wasn't normal, that most kids had fathers? Did he see me ask my mom why I didn't have one? Did he watch _her_ struggle not to break down as she explained what had happened, and that she didn't think he was _ever _going to come back? Did he see the first time I transformed?

Or all those times I woke up in the middle of the night to hear Gohan crying in his sleep. How even though I was, what, all of _four years old_, I would curl up with my larger-than-life big brother, the one I knew had quite literally saved the world, the one who I _never_ saw cry during waking hours, and suddenly _I_ was the one comforting _him._ How, when he would wake up and find me in his bed, I would lie and say that _I_ was the one having a nightmare.

And how fucked up is that? It's weird that it's taken me twelve years to realize it, but that's not a position I should have been in.

The worst part is how close we've become. The tight relationship most teenagers just don't have with their parents, the one my school friends just can't wrap their minds around. The one that, it turns out, was build on a foundation of lies upon fucking lies.

How can I ever trust him again?


	34. Entry 34

_Saturday 31 October _

It's been a rough day. It's about 10 in the evening, and I just woke up from one hell of a nap.

Better rewind to this morning. I dragged my ass out of bed at about 7 and made my way down the stairs. I spent the whole night tossing and turning, and just gave up some time after sunrise. Caffeine was my number one priority, so I made a beeline for the kitchen.

Usually, the only one up that early at Capsule Corp on a Saturday would be Vegeta, and he'd typically be in the gravity room. So I was surprised when I walked into the kitchen and found Bulma there, dressed in a business suit and reading the morning paper over a cup of coffee. She must have been just as surprised to see me, because she startled up in her seat when I walked in.

"Hey, Goten," she said, standing up. I'm not sure what Trunks told her, but I'm guessing he didn't give her all the details of what happened on Thursday, which was just fine by me. She didn't ask if I was okay—she could probably tell just from looking at me that I was still a fucking mess. She did offer me a mug of tea, though, and asked why I was up so early.

I took the mug and shrugged, tapping one hand against the counter. "Couldn't sleep." I asked why _she_ was already up, and she said that she had to head to North City for a business conference. She said she was going to be gone until Wednesday, but that I was welcome to stay as long as I liked. Then she looked at her watch, realized she was running late, and gave me a quick hug before downing the rest of her coffee and running out the door. Which was weird, seeing as Bulma isn't exactly the most touchy-feely-huggy mom in the world.

Guess she figured I needed it.

I love my mother, I really do, but the fact is that Bulma's always been better at reading me. Trunks isn't the only reason I spend so much of my time at Capsule Corp.

I'd just sat down at the recently-abandoned kitchen table when Trunks walked in. He poured himself a tall cup of coffee before walking over to me. "Hey Chibi," he said, in that same careful tone his mom had been using. I mumbled a hello into my mug. He asked if I wouldn't mind joining him; I rolled my eyes and reminded him that this was _his_ house. He took a sip of his coffee and sat down. He kept watching me as I drank my tea, chewing on his lip and looking like he wanted to say something. I finished off my mug and was about to tell him to just spit it out already when, naturally, Vegeta walked in.

As usual, he went straight for the coffee machine—I tell you, they're a whole family of caffeine addicts. God knows how long the obsessive psycho had been awake training, but it had probably been at least a couple of hours. He didn't say "hello" or "good morning" or anything like that, but he did look straight at me as he started drinking his coffee.

"Staying here isn't going to accomplish anything, you know," he said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He wasn't confrontational, exactly, just very direct. "Whatever problems you are facing at home, it is probably better to face them directly."

Now, in retrospect, this was a dick move. Vegeta was actually attempting to be helpful for once, but I honestly didn't want to hear it. Besides, it just sounded like he was taking my father's side—which made sense, considering he's probably the closest thing to a friend that Vegeta _has._ So my reply may have been something along the lines of: "Excuse me if I don't feel like taking family advice from the Prince of All Emotional Retards."

Trunks choked on his coffee.

I looked up to see Vegeta gaping at me over his cup—apparently, I managed to catch him completely off guard. I shoved my mug away from me and stood up from the table. It wasn't long before that little vein that always seems to protrude from Vegeta's forehead began throbbing. So, partially because I suddenly felt very, very uncomfortable, and partially for reasons of self-preservation, I got the hell out of there.

I ran down the hallway to the back door, figuring I would go on a flight or whatever, do something to clear my head. I didn't hear Trunks come after me, but I hadn't quite made it out the back door when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Goten!" He turned me around and frowned at me.

"Back off, Trunks." I shoved his hands off my shoulders. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him. "I need some time to myself, okay?"

"Chibi, you _need_ to calm down."

Like I've said before, I have a tendency not to think things through when I'm talking to Trunks. And that, more than anything else, is what leads me to say things I end up regretting. So, because I still felt like shit, and because the person I was really angry with wasn't around, and because Trunks was _there_, I said: "I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but seeing as you _can't_ . . ."

I trailed off when I saw the stunned, hurt look in his eyes. Like he couldn't believe I would use that knowledge against him like that.

To tell the truth, I can't believe I did either.

Good news is, he was too stunned to come after me when I walked out of the compound. It was early enough that there weren't many people on the streets, so I decided to risk being seen as I took off. Without really paying much mind to what direction I was going, I just flew.

I couldn't tell you where, exactly, I ended up landing. I can say that it was some rural area outside the West City metro area—there were a couple of farms visible in the distance, but other than that, it seemed mostly uninhabited. Which suited my purposes just fine.

On reflection, it was a pretty stupid way to spend my morning. It was cold, overcast, and damp, and I spent what had to be at least few hours just kind of lying on the grass, hands behind my head, thinking.

You'd imagine that I'd be preoccupied with what had happened this week. That I'd be thinking about my family, my father, everything that had left me such a fucking wreck that I'd chewed out my boyfriend and insulted my boyfriend's dad.

Instead, I thought about charcoal.

Maybe it was because I realized, in the back of my fucked up little head, that I still hadn't started my art project. Maybe it was just my brain trying to protect me from thoughts about my father. But for whatever reason, I thought, I thought long and hard, about charcoal.

For background: I've always had trouble with drawing clouds, especially the thick, depressing type that filled the sky today. My clouds always look like those big, white, fluffy caricatures that five-year-olds come up with. But today, as I watched one cloud dip behind another, melding and meshing all these darker and lighter shades of gray, and I realized how simple the solution to my problem was.

Charcoal.

See, a lot of my classmates like to use charcoal for drawing. In their sketchbooks, on loose paper, on whatever. Charcoal only comes in gray or black, but in varying _shades_ of gray and black. It tends to be softer and smudgier than regular graphite pencils, easier to blend. It's definitely better for shading, and great for getting a nice, sketchy feel in your drawings, but I don't particularly like using charcoal. It's a little too soft, a little too smudgy.

I guess I just like the control that ink and graphite give me.

But the big weakness of charcoal—the fact that it's harder to control, a little less precise, less useful for getting clean lines—that would be a big advantage in drawing dark, thick clouds. Clouds don't have neat borders, they're not consistent in their thickness or their colors, they don't look clean and defined. My usual methods, my usual mediums, they just don't make for a convincing cloudy sky. And charcoal was the painfully obvious answer.

So I kept staring at the sky. I thought about blending different kinds of charcoal—vine and powdered, compressed and uncompressed—to capture the various shades of gray that I saw in my head. I kept watching the clouds, wondering if using charcoal and colored pencils in the same piece would look awkward, or whether it would help me separate those relatively clean lines of earth from the mushy, squishy, gray-and-grayer clouds above. I thought, in great detail, about matching it with other mediums—watercolors, tempera paints, graphite, markers. And always, charcoal would be at the centerpiece.

And then a pterodactyl flew overhead. Breaking my chain of thought. Reminding me of what had brought me out there to begin with.

I sat up straight. And it all rushed back. Thoughts of charcoal and clouds and sketchbooks all fell to the wayside as I clenched my fists next to me, ripping patches of grass out of the ground. Switching from angry to depressed to confused back to angry all over again.

So much for clearing my head.

I sighed and stood up, figuring that I really ought to head back to Capsule Corp. I assumed it was going to be awkward when I got back, but . . . it's not like I had anywhere better to go.

I wasn't sure where, exactly, I was, but it wasn't too hard to seek out Trunks' and Vegeta's energy signatures. So I flew back to West City, slipped in through the back door, and prayed that I wouldn't run into Vegeta before I got to Trunks's room.

Trunks must have let Lord Featherton out of his cage, because he was fluttering around the hallway when I walked in. He circled around me a couple of times while I closed the door, then landed on my shoulder and started nuzzling against my neck.

I couldn't help smiling at him. "Well," I said as I stroked the pigeon's head, "at least _someone_ in this house isn't mad at me." He cooed in agreement and gripped my shirt with his talons as I walked upstairs.

And, because this is the way my life works, I just had to run into Vegeta on the stairway.

He glared at me and jerked his head to one side, signaling that he wanted me to move out of his way. I stepped aside and let him walk downstairs. Just as he passed me, I took a deep breath and cleared my throat to get his attention. He ignored me, so I called his name.

He stopped walking down the stairs and spun on one heel to face me. I took another deep breath, ignored the knot in my stomach, and started talking.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier." I'd like to pretend my voice wasn't at all shaky. "I was totally out of line."

He stalked back up the stairs toward me, locking eyes with me. His face was set in this dead-serious expression, and he said: "Allow me to make something inescapably clear, brat. I don't give a flying _fuck_ what you think about me, but if you _ever_ take that tone with me again, I'm going to rip you into so many pieces Shenlong won't be able to put you back together. Understand?" I nodded quickly. And I gulped, loudly, because Vegeta _does not bluff_.

I stood there, quiet and still as a statue, wondering what he was going to do next. He backed up a bit and his tone softened to something more neutral than aggressive. "Your psychotic life mate is upstairs."

On another day, I might have made some very unwise remark about how the omnicidal Prince of All Saiyans isn't in a position to be calling _anyone _psychotic—even his super-strong mad-scientist son. Today, I had the sense to keep my mouth shut. So I just said, "Thank you, Uncle," and headed the rest of the way up to Trunks' room.

If I weren't in such a craptastic mood, I might have laughed at the stunned look on his face when I said that. I haven't called him "uncle" in _years._

I knocked on Trunks' doorframe, even though the door was wide open. He was sitting at his desk, messing around on his computer, and sat up suddenly when he heard me knock. We stared silently at each other for a while. Lord Featherton tilted his head from me to Trunks, then back at me again. None of us moved. I guess he got bored of waiting for something to happen, because a few seconds later he let out this irritated coo, took off and made his way back downstairs.

Trunks stood up from his desk and walked over to me. "Trunks, I—" I started to apologize for how I'd acted, but he cut me off, putting his forefinger on my lips and shaking his head. He grabbed my hand and pulled me further into his room. The next thing I knew, we were curled up on his bed—I didn't even bother kicking off my shoes. We were facing each other, our foreheads pressed together, our legs tangled up, and he didn't ask me if I was okay or if I wanted to talk about it, because he knew damn well I didn't want to. He just kept stroking my hair with his left hand and telling me it was alright, telling me over and over that he was there for me. That he loves me.

No sex, not even kissing. Just soft touches and whispered words until I fell asleep, and it reminded me more than anything of the first time I transformed. When I turned into a Super Saiyan, almost a decade ago.


	35. Entry 35

_Sunday 1 November_

My name is Son Goten, and I am the youngest Super Saiyan in history.

The first transformation didn't come when I was training with my mother, or when I was out in the woods fighting with Trunks. My life wasn't being threatened, I wasn't watching someone I loved being hurt, I wasn't in the middle of some epic battle. It started on a perfectly normal evening, when Trunks and I were playing at his house.

We'd snuck into his mom's lab—something we did pretty often, much to Bulma's constant irritation—and were messing around with some of the delicate equipment. And we came upon the little round, green-screened device that I'd never seen before. As soon as I turned it on, it started making a weird beeping noise. So I asked Trunks about it.

That's the first time I learned about the Dragonballs. Trunks explained that they were these orange orbs that could be used to summon a magical dragon, who could grant you any wish you wanted. I've had a long time to get used to the idea now, but at the time, I'd never heard of anything like it. It sounded so unreal.

I didn't believe him at first, but he swore he was telling the truth. And, well, Trunks wouldn't lie about something like that.

So I asked him if the Dragonballs could really grant _any_ wish. And he nodded and said that they could—his mom had told him that they give you anything you wanted, they could make you immortal, they could even bring back the dead.

It hit us both at the exact same time. That we could gather up the Dragonballs, and that we could use them to bring back my dad. He wanted to start looking for them right away, but I insisted on telling Gohan first, on getting him to help us find them, because I was _sure_ he'd want to be a part of this. Of course, by the time I got home, Gohan had fallen asleep in his textbooks. Instead of waking him, I decided to just let him sleep.

I'd already waited seven years. I could wait one more evening.

So I waited. I couldn't sleep at all that night, I was so fucking excited and so much more hopeful than I'd _ever_ been. I mean, could you blame me? My dad was coming back, after all.

I was sitting up in the living room by the time that Gohan woke up. I didn't even wait for him to say good morning. I just started tugging at his pant leg and telling him that we had to get to Capsule Corp right away. He smiled down at me and asked me why, and I told him.

The smile fell from his face. And he kneeled down to my eye level, and stumbled around the words for a while, before finally telling me. That the dragon couldn't grant the same wish twice, and they'd already wished my father back from the dead once before. I just kind of stood there, stunned, because our _one chance_ had been ripped away so quickly. So I kept staring at my brother, asking if there wasn't _some_ way to bring him back anyway. If there wasn't something we could do, say the wish differently, get the dragon to make an exception because of all the times my dad had saved the world, fucking _anything_ we could do.

Gohan could have lied to me. He could have said that it was impossible. But I guess he figured I deserved the truth. So he told me about the Dragonballs on Namek. And that those could be used to resurrect someone more than once. And the hope was back, and I asked, well, can't we just use those? Can't we wish ourselves to Namek and borrow _their_ Dragonballs, just this once?

That's when Gohan dropped the bomb. That they'd already thought of that back when my dad died during the Cell Games. That they were just about to make the wish when he told them not to.

He told them not to.

We couldn't bring my father back, because didn't _want_ to come back.

So how did I react? I was seven years old, how the fuck do you _think_ I reacted? I ran into my bedroom, slammed the door shut, and started pacing around, because I just couldn't stand the idea of sitting still. Gohan didn't come after me. I don't know if it was because I'd brought up memories he didn't want to deal with, or if Gohan just thought I needed my space, but either way, he didn't come into the bedroom.

I'm still not sure if I wish he'd come inside.

I'm still not sure if I wish he'd lied to me.

It didn't make any sense. I mean, how could my dad not want to come back? How could anyone _want_ to stay dead? I kept pacing, sitting down, standing back up, lying on my bed, bouncing one leg around, just moving around frantically like a fucking crazy person. And suddenly, as I was lying on my bed and tapping one foot against the mattress, I could feel the walls start to close in on me. The bedroom seemed so stifling, and I couldn't be in there anymore. So I climbed out the window and started moving in the direction of West City. I started walking, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. I eventually burst into a run.

I was pretty fast back then, but it still took me almost an hour to get to Trunks' house. I knocked on the door, pounding my fist against it until it opened. I stumbled forward as soon as Bulma opened the door.

"Goten?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

I looked up at her. I didn't answer her question. Instead I just asked, "Where's Trunks?"

"He's upstairs. He's supposed to be doing his schoolwork."

"Can I go see him?" I think she wanted to say "no," but she must have sensed how upset I was. Probably would have been hard not to see. So she let me in, and I ran up the stairs.

I reached for the doorknob. I still remember seeing my hands shaking. I opened the door without knocking.

For once, Trunks really _was_ studying. He was sitting at his desk, and startled up as soon as I burst in. He relaxed when he saw that it was me.

"Hey!" he said brightly, smiling at me. "What's going on? Did you talk to Gohan about finding the Dragonballs?"

I wasn't sure how to say it, so I just spit it out. "Gohan already knew about them." I shook my head. "They didn't...they didn't wish him back because my dad doesn't want to come back."

Trunks looked shocked. Almost as shocked as I'd been. "What?"

"We can't wish him back. He doesn't want to come back."

"Oh." He stood up and walked toward me. "Oh, Chibi." He gave me a look that I'd never seen from him before. I wouldn't realize until much, much later what it was.

Pity.

"He doesn't want to come back," I repeated, saying it more to myself than to Trunks. We stood there, staring at each other for a minute. I started trembling, and he slowly, carefully pulled me into a hug. I felt this weird pressure start to build in my chest. Only it wasn't just pressure—it was _painful._ It actually hurt, physically, in this strange burning way I'm still not sure how to explain. And I lost it.

I started crying.

I buried my face in his shoulder, and started sobbing. It felt like I was crying for a long time, but looking back on it now, it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes.

Then the pressure intensified, and the sobs became something different. I started shouting. That feeling in my chest, sobs simply weren't enough to let it out. So I began to yell. No words, just furious, meaningless yells.

It was so unfair. It was so _fucking unfair_. My father was gone, I couldn't bring him back, because he fucking _chose_ not to come back. I didn't have any say in the matter, Gohan didn't, my mother didn't, we were all stuck because he'd made the choice for us.

I really thought that we'd be able to bring him back. I really thought that I'd finally get to see my father, and that one chance was taken away from me before I even knew about it.

And just like that, I wasn't sad anymore. I was angry.

The yells became screams.

Trunks pulled back, holding my shoulders and telling me to calm down. I shoved him away. I heard more than saw him slam into the wall.

Being that angry, it's terrifying at first. Because it goes beyond rage. You fight it as hard as you can, and the whole time you feel like you're going to rip apart. Like it's going to break you.

I was scared. And that fury, with all its burning and tearing and searing, it just _kept building_. Well past the limits of what I thought I was capable of. I screamed, as if screaming would let it out, would bring me back to normal, would some how get rid of the awful burning that started in my chest and spread quickly—way too quickly—throughout the rest of my body. I remember gripping my head in my hands, damn near pulling my hair straight out of my skull, wondering if the pressure would actually make me burst.

Suddenly, somewhere between the screams and the shaking and barely hearing Trunks calling my name and the _horrible burning ache_, I stopped fighting it. And even though I was still scared, I _let it_ break me. I couldn't bring myself to fight anymore.

I gave in.

Then came the snap. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. I was cracking at the seams and I didn't even _care._ My vision went completely white. There was nothing, nothing in the world but heat and power and light and an incredible roaring that I felt more than heard. Nothing else.

I was blinded. And then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.

As soon as my vision finally cleared, I saw that Trunks was gaping at me, half crouched on the floor. The plaster had cracked where I had shoved him into the wall, and bits of ceiling tile had fallen into his hair. I looked around the room. The lamp that sat in the far corner of his room lay in a thousand pieces on his carpet; his desk had collapsed into a pile of books and papers and splintered wood; his windows were shattered, the frame to his door had split, not a single piece of furniture was left intact.

It was all broken.

That's when I finally saw the glow. It took me a few seconds to realize where that strange light was coming from. It was coming from my own body. I looked down at my hands, watching that light radiate off my skin. Something had happened to me. Somehow, in a matter of seconds, I'd changed.

It didn't make any sense. Nothing did.

So I just..._crashed_. As fast as I'd gone up, I came down. Before I knew it, I was back to my senses, and if it was possible, that was even more terrifying than the moments before the snap. I was back on earth, back to myself, back to being a seven-year-old boy, and I was _so fucking scared._ I didn't understand what had just happened, didn't understand the incredible power that lay in my tiny hands. All I knew was that I was shaken and frightened and everything was suddenly _way_ too quiet.

I heard a pathetic voice whimper, breaking the silence. It took me a few seconds to realize it was _my_ voice. And despite the fact that I was still glowing, was still in that transformed and hyper-powerful state, I felt all the strength drain from my legs.

I fell to my hands and knees. Trunks crawled over, pulled me into a sitting position, and wrapped his arms around me from behind. I barely noticed, though—I only wanted to _breathe_, keep breathing and make sure I didn't stop.

I was so afraid that I was going to stop.

I'd just begun to relax, to get my stuttered gasping under control, when the bedroom door burst open. I tensed up again, startled. I shouldn't have been surprised, I guess. The whole house must have been rattling, so of course Bulma would come in to see what's wrong.

Trunks looked up at her. "Mom," he said, sounding so much more authoritative than any eight-year-old should be capable of, "I got this." Bulma, god bless her, she just nodded and shut the door behind her as she left. As soon as the door closed, I began to relax again. My breathing started to slow, and soon enough I powered down. The unnatural light around me faded away.

Then I noticed. I _hurt_. Every muscle in my body felt strained beyond its limits, every tendon and ligament was stretched and torn. I started whimpering again. Oh god, I must have sounded so _pitiful_, sitting there and trying to speak, trying to ask _what_ had just happened and _how_ and _why_, and whether I was okay. Whether I was going to be alright. If the pain was ever ever _ever _going to stop.

And I couldn't ask. I couldn't form words, so all that came out of my mouth were those pitiful goddamn whimpers and cries. I started to shake again, though nowhere near as violently as I had been before. Trunks pulled back and forcibly turned me around. Then he pulled me back into his arms, holding me closer and more fiercely than he ever has, before or since.

I started crying again. I was seven years old, so scared and _so_ tired, my best friend was hugging me and stroking my hair and telling me I was going to be okay, and I just couldn't think of _anything else_ to do. So I clenched my hands around the cloth of his shirt, buried my head into his chest, and sobbed.

His grip on me relaxed a little. Softened. Though I can't recall what he was saying, I will never forget how his voice sounded then, so damn gentle, like he was afraid of shattering me. Even though I was already lying in his arms in a million scattered, glowing, superpowered pieces.

And in a haze of fear and confusion and unbelievable grief over someone I'd never even met, I cried. I cried myself into total exhaustion. I cried myself to sleep, right there on my best friend's bedroom floor.

That's how I, a sheltered seven-year-old half-human freak, became a Super Saiyan. I had dear old Dad to thank for it.

As always.


	36. Entry 36

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay on this one. I've spend the last few weeks contending with an upper respiratory infection, winter term finals, a _second_ upper respiratory infection, and a smattering of unanticipated personal issues. I've been trying to get myself put back together as spring semester starts back up, and this story, unfortunately, had to take a backseat. Now that things have settled somewhat, I should be back to updating once or twice a week until the story ends. Thanks for all your patience.

* * *

_Monday 2 November_

I look really different now. Like, _really_ different. More than I thought I would.

Which, I suppose, was the whole point.

I guess I should be happy.

I should explain. See, I passed out pretty early last night, in Trunks' bed. I must have been more tired than I'd realized, because even though I was asleep before Trunks got into bed with me, he was actually awake before me.

I sat up in his bed, watching him put together his stuff for school. I'd skipped on Friday, but I didn't think I could get away with ditching again. Trunks obviously agreed; when I looked over to the corner of his room where I'd dumped my school stuff, he'd already put everything away in my backpack.

"Hey," I said, getting his attention from his bed.

"Morning," he said, not looking up from his bookbag. "Didn't realize you were awake."

I yawned. "What time is it?"

"About 7:15."

I frowned. "We're running late. Why didn't you get me up?"

He shrugged from his spot on the floor by his desk. "I figured you could use the extra sleep. Besides, you took a shower last night, you can get away with skipping this morning."

I laughed. "You're so gross."

He rolled his eyes as he stood up to look at me. "You're the one who isn't taking a shower, Goten."

"That's it," I said. "I don't care if we're late, I'm taking a fucking shower."

Trunks shrugged again. "Fine, but don't blame me if Mr. Mori tears you a new one."

"I think Mori is still terrified of your mom."

He smirked. "Goten, _my father_ is terrified of my mom."

"Exactly." I bounded out of bed and landed on his floor in one quick movement. "I'm pretty sure I'll be fine." With that, I walked into his private bathroom, the one adjoining his bedroom. And yeah, I actually felt like I'd be able to deal with the world today.

Until I turned to the counter to brush my teeth and looked at the mirror. Catching my reflection. Seeing my face.

Seeing _his_ face.

That's when I realized it. I couldn't get away from him. He was with me wherever I went. Same face. Same hair. Same everything.

I must have been staring at the mirror for a longer than I'd thought, because the next thing I knew, Trunks was standing in the bathroom door, clearing his throat to get my attention.

"What's wrong? I thought you were gonna take a shower."

I shook my head, but I didn't turn away from the mirror. "Nothing."

"Nothing? Because you've been kind of staring at the mirror for a good five minutes."

I snapped my head around to face him and glared. "I said it was nothing, okay!? Fuck!"

"Okay, god, fine." He held up his hands in front of him. "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

I bit down on my lip and winced. Because, really, Trunks was the last person I should have been taking my bad mood out on. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm . . . I'm fine," I lied.

"Okay," he said incredulously. "But we really are going to be late if you don't hurry up in here." He slowly started to leave, looking at me through the corner of his eye for half a second before turning away completely.

"Wait," I said suddenly. Trunks paused mid-step and turned around to look at me again. "Uh, I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Chibi, you already said that."

"No, I mean . . ." I started running my hand through my hair—through my father's goddamn spikes—and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I've been so shitty lately."

He shrugged. "Goten, all things considered, I think I can give you a pass this week." And he smiled at me, that reassuring smile that always managed to feel a little calmer. A little safer.

It's hard to believe that a week ago, I thought we were done. Right now, I don't know how I'd be coping without him.

I turned back to the fucking mirror again. "I hate this."

He slipped an arm around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder and making eye contact with me through the mirror. "You hate what?"

"I hate this face. And this hair. I hate how I look _exactly fucking like him._"

I saw him frown in the mirror. "I'll be right back." He disentangled himself from my waist and walked into his bedroom. I watched him dig around a box under his bed for a minute, wondering what the hell he was planning. Before I had the chance to ask, though, he was back in the bathroom, holding out something sharp and shiny resting in his hand.

Scissors.

I looked down at his palm, then back up at him. "The hell?"

"Well," he said, "I can't do anything about the face, and there's no way I'm letting you mar your sexiness with plastic surgery." He waved the scissors back and forth for a minute. "But I can help with the hair, if you want."

I gulped. I tried to ignore the knots in my chest and the butterflies in my stomach as I nodded, lowered the lid of the toilet seat, and sat down with my back to him.

I heard more than felt Trunks shearing off huge chunks of my hair. I thought my hair would be heavier, thought there'd be a more noticeable weight being lifted, but the truth is that if I hadn't seen the clumps of black hair falling down in front of me, I would have had no idea what was happening. It didn't take very long, fifteen minutes at most. Trunks brushed a few stray strands off my shoulder and pulled my up by one hand.

I stared at the mirror again. This time, it wasn't my father that was staring back.

Considering I've had the same hair since I was a baby, this is going to take some getting used to.

Trunks set the scissors down on the sink counter and stood next to me again. "Do you like it?"

I shrugged. "Do _you_?"

He laughed. "I _did_ it. I'm not exactly unbiased, Chibi. Seriously, what do you think?"

I turned to the mirror again. It was hard, forcing myself to look at the haircut on its own terms, not just in terms of making me look different from my dad. But Trunks actually did a pretty good job, consider how unruly my hair is. I'm not sure how the length made this much of a difference, but my hair is clumped into a lot more, smaller spikes now. It's still jutting off in a thousand different directions, but with each individual spike so much shorter than it was before, my hair looks vaguely normal.

After a couple of minutes, I nodded. I thanked him, and he just kissed me before shoving me into the shower. I cleaned up quick, grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and ran down the stairs to his car for the ten-minute drive to school.

We got to school about halfway through first period. I slipped into the room and took one of the empty seats way in the back of the classroom. Mori either didn't notice or, more likely, decided to just ignore me as he continued lecturing. I wish I could say I knew what he was talking about, but I spent the rest of class doodling in my calculus notebook. It wasn't until class ended and the bell rang that anyone said a word to me. Nao caught up with me before I could get on my way to literature and pulled me aside.

"Hey," he said, getting my attention by tapping me on the shoulder. "When did you get in?"

"About halfway through class," I said.

"Have you been sick or something?" When I shook my head, no, he looked me up and down and chuckled. "Man, I barely recognized you at first. What's with the hair?"

I shrugged. "I cut it."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that." He frowned at me. "Pretty dramatic change. Any particular reason for it?"

I started mulling over my answer, trying to explain why I'd let Trunks hack off the better part of my hair, when I realized something. I couldn't talk to him about this. I couldn't talk to anyone, anyone in the _world_ about this, but Trunks.

Nao. Dia. Kato. Addo. Even fucking _Ava._ These people would all come and go. My family, _they_ were supposed to be the ones that were always there for me. They were supposed to be the ones I didn't have to keep secrets from.

So just told Nao that I was getting sick of looking exactly like my father. As usual, not a lie, but definitely not the whole truth.

Because I couldn't tell him the whole truth.

I never can.


	37. Entry 37

_Tuesday 3 November_

I'm getting really fucking tired of reassuring people that I'm Okay. Capital-O Okay. Okay, Fine, Great, Never Been Better. After an especially long, long day, I'm sick of it.

My long, long day started at about 5 am. It's not like I meant to get up that early, but my eyes snapped open well before sunrise and I couldn't get back to sleep. I finally gave up, crawled out of Trunks' bed, and spent the next hour and a half watching godawful talk shows on the local television stations. I began to wonder what kind of cursed career path winds up with you interviewing the West City Zoo's penguin breeders at the asscrack of dawn . . . and then came to the horrifying conclusion that my _own_ career path as a journalist might one day lead me there.

I . . . may need to start taking school more seriously.

I turned off the television, got dressed, and hopped in the car with Trunks at around 7:45. To his credit, Trunks seemed to pick upon the fact that I was not in the mood for a casual chat, and didn't say a word until we pulled into the school parking lot.

Same thing couldn't be said for Nao. The second I plopped down into my seat—just before the bell rang—he handed me a note:

-_Are you okay?_

I rolled my eyes and wrote back:

-_Fine._

Nao raised an eyebrow as he scribbled down:

-_You don't look fine. _Which was true, I suppose—I knew I had bags under my eyes, and my newly-shorn hair was a complete disaster. Plus, I imagine by this point a scowl had actually made a permanent home on my face.

Still, didn't mean I wanted that pointed out, so I wrote:

-_I told you I'm fine. Now. Stop. Asking._

I handed him back the slip of paper. He raised both eyebrows this time before jotting something down. I couldn't tell you what it was, though, because I didn't take the note when he handed it back to me; I just started staring at the chalkboard, pretending to pay attention while Mr. Mori lectured. I could hear Nao let out an exasperated little puff of air before he opened up his own notebook and started to take notes on what Mori was saying. Meanwhile, all I managed to get written was the homework assignment.

I couldn't get out of class fast enough. When the bell rang, I shoved my notebook into my backpack, tearing off half the cover, and damn near broke the zipper closing up my bag. Lucky me, though, Nao doesn't seem to know when to let up. He managed to catch up with me before I got to my literature class.

"Goten, hold up." He pulled me aside. "Are you—"

"I swear to god," I cut him off, "if you ask me if I'm okay, I will punch you in the face."

He didn't let go of my arm. "What is your problem? Look, there's obviously something wrong—"

"For the love of _fuck_, Nao! Did it occur to you that maybe what has me so pissed off is the fact that people _keep fucking asking me_ if I'm okay?" I shoved his hand off my arm. "Kami, how stupid do you have to be?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, fuck you too." Which sort of stood out to me, since Nao almost never swears—and he's certainly never sworn at me.

I dunno, maybe I had it coming. But by that point, I was glad to be rid of him. Really.

Naturally, the moment I walked into lit class and took my seat, Dia caught sight of me and asked if I was doing okay. At least she had the good sense to shut up when I growled out a "yes."

So that was that. I just sort of dragged myself through the rest of the day. Sat quietly and doodled through my classes. Ignored Nao through history. Grabbed lunch with Trunks in the hallway, because it's finally too cold to eat outside anymore. Avoided making eye contact with Ava in chemistry. Faked my way through phys ed. Nothing exciting. Nothing new.

By the time 2:30 rolled around, I was more than happy to go home with Trunks, finish up my homework, and get to sleep early. But no, the universe just doesn't know when to leave me the fuck alone. I'd barely cracked open my calc book when I heard three very sharp, very deliberate knocks on my door.

There's only one person I know that knocks like that. I didn't even look up from my desk as the door cracked open and he came inside.

"What do you want, Gohan?"

He chucked a little. "Nice to see you too." He closed the door behind him and moved inside, sitting down on the corner of my bed. I didn't say anything. I just scrawled down one of the problems from my textbook, started solving it, realized I'd fucked it up, erased it, rewrote. Fucked it up again. Ripped the piece of paper out of my notebook and tossed it in the trash. Started over. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Gohan cleared his throat in a distinctly unsubtle fashion. I ignored him until he started speaking.

"What are you working on?" he asked, standing up and peering over my shoulder.

"Integral forms containing inverse trigonometric functions."

"Do you have any idea what those words actually _mean_?"

"Not a fucking clue." I threw away my second sheet of paper and started my homework assignment a third time, silently cursing myself for zoning out during Mori's lecture. As usual.

Gohan cleared his throat again. "Look, we should probably talk.

I sighed and threw my pencil down onto the desk. "Gohan, I just want to do my calculus homework."

"Wow," he said, this obnoxious half-laugh in his voice, "you _are_ upset."

"Cute." I slammed my textbook shut and turned to face him. "So let me guess. Dad asked you to come here and talk to me."

"Not exactly. He told me what happened. I'm the one who decided to come over. Dad doesn't even know I'm here."

"Whatever," I said, folding my arms and looking away. "So you understand why I'm upset."

"Of course I do," he said, sitting back down on my bed. "I always knew it would upset you if you found out."

My jaw dropped. I forced it shut as I processed this new information.

Gohan knew, all along, that our dad had known about me. Like I haven't had enough insane revelations in my life lately.

And then I thought, shit, of _course_ Dad would trust _Gohan_ with something like this. Because Gohan is the calm, level-headed genius of the family.

Because Gohan is the son he really knows.

"Why . . . " I choked up, swallowed hard, and forced myself to continue. I wasn't pissed—Kami knows _why _I wasn't pissed—but I was stunned. "God, Gohan, why didn't you tell me?"

He looked away, his expression somewhere between guilty and thoughtful. "Would anything good have come of it?" He looked back at me when I didn't answer. "Look, if and when you have your own kids you'll get it, but sometimes, as a parent, honesty actually isn't the best policy. You really think I ever plan on letting Pan find out she wasn't planned?"

I took a few seconds to get my bearings. "Even if you did, it wouldn't matter. She might have been an accident, but you and Videl stepped up."

Gohan raised an eyebrow at me. "And hasn't Dad?"

"He stayed away," I sighed out. "He knew."

"I know, Goten."

"It's just...it's bad enough that _Mom_ likes you better than me." And it sounds pathetic, but it actually felt good, saying it aloud. And I know Mom loves me, but I really do wonder if she actually _likes_ me. "I just never thought Dad—"

"Okay," he cut me off, "first, you're wrong about Mom."

"Bullshit," I muttered.

"Listen. When I was a kid, Mom wouldn't let me train. Of course her heart was in the right place. She was worried about me. But when you were a kid, she's the one who trained you."

"And she wasn't worried about _me_?" I failed to see how this was helping his case. If anything, he was proving my point.

"Of course she was. But she cared enough about you, about the fact that you would never be happy if you couldn't let your inner fighter out every once in a while, that she put aside her own fears to train you." He walked back over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard that had to be for her? Especially after losing dad?"

Part of me wanted to shrug his hand off. But, for some reason, I didn't. Instead I just asked, "What about you?"

"Huh?"

"How hard was it for _you_?" It was a question I already knew the answer to—Dad's death had been rough on him. Really rough. I'd seen it firsthand. "I mean, jeez, Gohan, how do you come back from something like that?"

"Want the truth?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that'd be a nice change of pace."

Gohan ignored my comment. "Honestly, I was fine, at first. I figured that Dad had made his choice, it's not like he was languishing in hell or anything . . . he just figured it was for the best."

I looked him right in the eyes and said:

"I don't remember you being fine."

Gohan looked like he'd been slapped. "Guess I wasn't as good an actor as I'd have liked to believe." He gave me a sad smile and sat back down. "The truth is, it got worse after you were born. I mean . . . you just looked so much like him."

And then it was my turn to feel like being slapped. Because, fuck, if I saw my dad when I looked in the mirror, what the hell did I expect Gohan to see? So I told him to shut the fuck up, that the last thing I needed was my brother reminding me what a terrible burden on his existence I was, that I _knew_ I looked exactly like dad, and why the fuck else would I get this damn haircut?

Gohan cut me off again. I'm starting to wonder if that isn't becoming a bad habit of his.

The first thing he said was that he never thought of me as a burden, that I was what kept him going some days, and _that_ shut me up.

I watched him for a minute before coming up with the ever insightful: "Why?"

"I guess I just felt like I'd fucked up so, so much. I guess . . . the big-brother thing was the only thing I was doing right."

"Other than the whole saving-the-world thing," I grumbled.

He laughed. Not an amused laugh, but one of those nervous chuckles you use to try to defuse tension. Ironic thing is, those laughs always manage to put me more on edge.

"Goten," he started up again, wearing the bitterest smile I'd ever seen on him, "when I thought back to that day, it wasn't defeating Cell that stuck out in my mind. It was Dad's death."

And then he said, more to himself than to me:

"To be honest, I kept blaming myself for it."

And there it was. Gohan was _finally_ admitting what I'd really known since I was a little kid. That Dad's death screwed him up more than he ever wanted to admit.

So I did what any good little brother would do. I stood up and smacked him on the back of his head.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his head, though I knew I didn't really hurt him. I couldn't hurt him if I tried. "What was that for?"

"For being an idiot. You were _nine_."

He laughed again, that tense, awkward, nasty laugh. "Never said it was rational."

I sat back down, turning away from him in my chair. "Why are you even telling me this?"

"Well, because it sort of leads into why Dad didn't want to come back." Gohan spent the next few minutes explaining how dad had started to think he'd done nothing but cause trouble for the earth. From Radditz (because every family needs that one crazy uncle) to Vegeta (back when he was "the bad guy") to Frieza to the androids (back when _they_ were the bad guys) to Cell—way he figured it, he'd managed to drag every one of them to planet. Like none of that would have happened if it hadn't been for him.

Like he was keeping the world safe by staying dead.

And all I could think up in response was:

"...That doesn't make any sense."

My brother laughed again. Genuinely, this time. He shook his head and shrugged. "It did at the time. Remember, this was _years_ before Buu came along." He looked askance at me. "The point is, given the circumstances . . . well, it's not like he didn't _want_ to be around." He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Just try to understand. Think you can do that?"

But I guess I'm still not in a place to be 'understanding,' whatever the fuck that means. So I answered his question with another question. "Look, are you going to try to make me go home?"

"I can't _make_ you do anything." He got up and started moving back toward the door. "But I do think it's worth talking this out with Dad."

"Maybe," I said, telling him what I knew he wanted to hear. "Just . . . not yet."

"That's all I'm asking." He smiled at me. "Goten, I know I've told you this already, but . . . you know I'm always here if you need anything. That hasn't changed." And I nodded, because this time, I believed him.

He didn't shut the door behind him when he left.

I stepped into the hallway and leaned against the banister, my eyes following him as he exited the compound. I watched through the window as he popped open his capsule plane—same model as mine—and flew off.

And I thought, long and hard, about what he'd said. About our dad. About our dad's completely reasonable, supremely idiotic reasons for staying away.

Believe it or not, this was easier when I was just angry.

I turned around to go back into my room and give my calculus homework a third try. I ended up running into Bra, literally. She grumbled as she fell backward onto the floor, I leaned down and offered a hand to help her up.

She looked up at me, bearing exactly the same look Vegeta always has right before one of his patented meltdowns. I'd braced myself for the kid's tongue lashing when the scowl fell away, replaced by an expression that was far too thoughtful for that tiny face.

"Goten," Bra said with this little frown. "Um, you seem kind of sad. And mad. You okay?"

Of all the fucking things that made me break. It wasn't my boyfriend's attempts to comfort me, or Bulma's quiet concern, or Gohan's calm, firm attempts to get me to face my father. It was a four year old girl asking me if I was okay.

Because I wanted to say I was. I wanted to say I was capital-o Okay. I wanted to repeat the lie I'd been telling all day. Even if it wasn't true, I wanted to be able to reassure her that it wasn't a big deal, that everything was fine.

But I couldn't do it. I leaned down, I opened my mouth to say, yeah, I'm fine, and before I could even take a breath, my throat tightened up.

And it hit me just how Not Okay I was.


	38. Entry 38

**Author's Note:** Readers, I have a bit of sad news to share. My father's cousin—let's call him "Larry"—the one who served as the partial inspiration for Trunks' mischief-making ways in this story, passed away suddenly a couple of weeks ago.

Larry, who lived in London, was a truly ridiculous human being, one of the most terrifyingly charming jesters this side of Shakespeare's Feste. He was also the kind of guy who could con a starving man out of his last quarter—he was _that_ good. While most of the antics Trunks has gotten up to in this story have been of my creation, some of them were taken straight out of Larry's very long playbook. Several years back, for instance, he decided—for reasons that still elude us—to lace some birdseed with ground-up sleeping pills, go down to Trafalgar Square, and strew large handfuls of birdseed along the ground. Minutes later, dozens of the square's infamous pigeon population were lying unconscious before Horatio Nelson's statue.

Like I said, Larry was a ridiculous, ridiculous person.

Don't worry—this doesn't mean I'm going on hiatus. But considering that you all have gotten to know Larry a little bit through Trunks' character, I thought I should let you in on the news.

For what it's worth, everyone laughed their way through the funeral.

Larry, the world is a slightly less interesting place without you.

* * *

_Wednesday 4 November_

As of 12:25 pm today, I am not speaking to Nao, and I _am_ speaking to Ava.

Seriously, how the fuck did _that_ happen?

Maybe I should start at the beginning of the day. Trunks drove me to school, barely-on-time as usual, and I pushed my way though the hallway and into class. I slipped into my seat with just enough time to scribble down a few more bullshit answers on my calc homework . . . and enough time to catch Nao staring me down out of the corner of his eye.

I huffed, dropped my pencil onto my desk, and spun in my seat to face him. "What?"

Nao responded with the ever brilliant, "What, _what_?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Clever."

He sighed a bit. "Look," he said, in that condescending-Nao tone, "something is obviously not okay—"

I stopped him right there. "Give the man a prize."

He glowered at me and dropped the look of probably-feigned sympathy on his face. "Okay, can you turn off the jackass switch for about five seconds?"

I had some choice words for him—words that probably aren't fit to reprint here—but I got cut off by the bell ringing. So I just muttered to myself until Mori picked up his lecture from where he left it off yesterday. At least, I assume he picked up where he left off; I zoned out and spent class doodling dead pterodactyls.

Again. I'm not bitter. Really.

I shouldn't have been surprised when Nao started following after me at the end of class. I guess some people just can't take a hint. The frustrating thing is that I should have been able to slip away from him—I'm obviously a thousand times faster than him, but I can't just super-speed my way down the hallway.

I'm so _sick_ of hiding my powers. It's such bullshit.

And so, because I was in public, and because there were throngs of people in the hallway, and because I couldn't use my fucking super-speed, Nao managed to catch up to me before I could make my way into literature.

"Goten, man," he said, slipping in between me and the door to my lit class. "Come on, you've been out of it all week. What's going on?"

Maybe I should have just ignored him and gone to class. But I was pissed, and Nao was . . . well, he was _there_. So I said: "Damnit, Nao, don't you have any other friends to annoy?"

Even I have to admit, that was a pretty awful thing to say. He apparently agreed—he looked like he'd been slapped. Which I guess is why he said: "Look, if you want to isolate yourself from everyone except your jerk of a boyfriend—"

What can I say? Given how much I've been relying on Trunks lately—given how he's pretty much been the only one I've been able to talk to this past week—well, Nao touched a nerve. So instead of calmly defending Trunks, my response went something like, "Shut the _fuck_ up, Nao." I growled at him. "You don't know _shit._"

"You're right, I don't. So I don't really have anything useful to add, do I?" And he turned around and started walking down to the other end of the school.

Again, probably should have taken the chance to just walk into class. Instead, I yelled after him: "Fine, just walk away, you antisocial little fuck!"

He made a quarter turn, just enough for me to see him narrow his eyes at me. "Classy, Goten." And he kept walking away.

Great way to start the day, right?

Fast forward to lunch. I went to meet Trunks for lunch in the hallway, right outside the music room. It was, as usual, abandoned, and practically silent save for the sound of bad flute playing filtering into the hallway. Trunks was already sitting down, leaning against one of the lockers, when I got there. I joined him, and we were both picking quietly at our lunches—I was still thinking about my stupid fight with Nao, I couldn't tell you what was on Trunks' mind—when his mobile phone started to buzz.

As soon as he flipped open his mobile, his eyes grew to twice their size. I asked him what was up; he said, "It's Addo." He snapped his phone close with one hand. "He, uh, wants to meet up for lunch. And talk." _Alone_, Trunks didn't say.

"Go for it," I shrugged out. "I'll see you after school."

"Are you sure?" He did that nervous lower-lip-biting thing, looked down at his phone, and looked up at me. "I mean, I don't want to just you alone in—"

I cut him off with a kiss. "I'm a big boy, Trunks," I said with what I'm pretty sure was the first genuine laugh I've had all week. "I think I can handle finishing my lunch without help."

"Right," he said, shoving his stuff, including his half-eaten lunch, back into his backpack. "Uh, later." And he scrambled down the hallway, looking more nervous than I'd seen him in ages.

Guess Addo doesn't need so much "space" anymore.

So it was just me. Sitting in the hallway, alone, picking at my lunch, feeling zero appetite despite the fact that my stomach was quite loudly growling at me. I could almost hear it say, "Screw your issues. Just feed me, you asshole!"

. . . maybe _I'm_ the one who needs more friends.

As if on cue, I heard a very particular pair of red high heels clicking against the tile of the hallway. They stopped a few feet in front of me. I didn't have to look up to know who they belonged to.

"What's up, Ava?" I kept poking at my sandwich.

"Oh, um, nothing." She shuffled her feet against the tile. "Just, uh, going to chemistry."

I rolled my eyes and looked up at her. "Ava, our chem classroom is on the other side of the school."

"Oh yeah. Um." She started wringing her hands. "I was. Um. Going to the bathroom?"

I couldn't help it—I smirked. "As opposed to the one right by the cafeteria?"

". . . Yeah. Right."

I laughed at her—I don't think it came out nasty, but she did turn a little red. "You want to sit down?" I gestured at the spot on the floor next to me, where Trunks had been sitting.

She nodded. "Sure." And she slid down next to me. How she managed to sit down on the floor in those heels and that skirt without flashing me, I will never understand.

"So," she said, adjusting her top, "uh, you got a haircut."

I bit back a mean comment about her command of the obvious. "Yeah."

"It looks good."

"Thanks." And, because it was getting pretty hard to ignore the fifty-ton dinosaur in the room, I said, "I thought you weren't speaking to me."

"I'm not," she said, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "You've just seemed really down the last couple of days."

Guess she's more perceptive than I've given her credit for.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. "Look," I finally said, "I am really sorry about blowing up at you last week."

"Yeah," she nodded. "That sucked."

"Not so much for what I said as how I said it, though." I sighed. "Yelling at you in public, that was a really, really shitty thing to do. But you . . . you've been keeping this up for almost a year now."

She gave me a look that was halfway between a pout and a scowl. "I know."

"I've kind of run out of ways to say no."

It was her turn to sigh. "Don't worry, I'm done." She shook her head. "I should've known it wouldn't have worked, you know?"

"Probably."

"It's just. Well, you know. I. Um. I've got kind of a big crush—"

I cut her off. "Yeah, I've noticed."

And then she said:

". . . on Dia."

There was a long, long pause as I picked the pieces of my brain off the floor.

And, because I couldn't think of one other goddamn thing to say, I shouted: "What the everloving _fuck?_"

"Shh!" She held up her hands. "Keep it down, okay?"

"Dia. Dia Aki. Short, skinny, multicolored hair, spoiled, _female_."

"Yes, yes, _that_ Dia."

I shook my head very quickly, as if it would somehow jolt the world back into making sense. "What the fuck," I repeated. "You . . . I didn't even think you liked girls."

"I don't," she sighed. "Dia's just . . . different, I guess. She's, I dunno, special." She looked down at the floor. "And I guess I started hitting on you because, well, you were cute. And you were there. And maybe I was hoping you would help me get my mind off of her, you know?" She looked back up at me. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

And there it was. All along, it wasn't even me Ava wanted. It was Dia.

It's just a fucking revelation conga line lately.

I leaned back against one of the lockers. And I thought about it. _Really_ thought about it. About how Ava started hitting on me literally minutes after Dia and Kato outed themselves as a couple. About the way Ava would always go out of her way for Dia, whether it was helping dye her hair to reassuring her about her less-than-ample busom. About the fact that Dia was the _only_ one that was ever able to get Ava off my back.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but it made _sense_. It actually made fucking sense.

I tapped the back of my head against the locker. "So you decided to hit on me. To help you get over Dia."

"Mm hmm."

I sat in silence for another minute. And thought. And kept thinking. And thought some more. And then, I smiled at her and said: "I call bullshit."

A confused, slightly hurt look crossed her face. "What do you mean?"

"If you really wanted to get over Dia," I started, "you would have gone for one of the hundred boys at this school you'd actually have a shot with. Sure as hell wouldn't have gone for a guy who's gay and taken." I paused for a second, finally making eye contact with her. "You just figured that maybe, if you could turn _me_, you could turn Dia too."

Her look of confusion quickly became one of panic. Yeah, she was found out.

More silence. And then, without breaking eye contact, I said: "You're an idiot."

She blinked and startled back a little. "Excuse me?"

"Look . . . " I tried to put it as gently as a could, but I think I failed. "I've got a boyfriend. And even if I didn't, I'd still be gay. What made you think chasing after me for so long would do anything other than piss me off?"

She looked back down, this time at her very bright red fingernails. "I don't know," she said quietly.

I shook my head. "You're cute, Ava, but you're not _that_ cute."

She looked up again, smiling this time. "You think I'm cute?"

"Objectively." I couldn't help smirking again. "Sorry, still no attraction."

"Right." She frowned. And after a few seconds, she started, "If you were straight, you think, maybe . . . "

"Probably not." She started to pout again. "But I've got weird tastes. I like prank-pulling mad geniuses with poor impulse control."'

She let out a nervous giggle. "You just described Dia."

"Yeah, well, Dia'd probably be my type if I were straight."

"I can't blame you." And she turned away from me, looking . . . well, she looked crushed.

I guess I'm not the only one with problems in this freakshow of a school.

"It was pretty dumb," she said. "Thinking I could turn you straight."

"Or turn Dia gay."

"Yeah." She turned back to me. "I really am sorry. I didn't know it bothered you so much."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry too. I should have been more straightforward about it. You know, _before_ screaming at you in the hallways."

The bell rang for the end of lunch. I grabbed my picked over lunch and put it back in my backpack. I stood, and helped Ava off the floor; she grabbed her bag and started walking with me toward chemistry.

As the halls started to fill up again, a completely random thought occurred to me. "You could have gone for Addo, you know."

"Oh, god no." Ava looked aghast. "Gay or not, I can't date a boy who's shorter than me. I could never wear heels!" And she was so _serious_ about it, I couldn't help but laugh.

She stopped still in the hallway. I turned around to see her folding her arms, frowning at me, obviously annoyed that I was laughing at her again. I stopped laughing; she kept pouting.

But when I shook my head and smiled at her—sincerely, this time—she smiled back.


	39. Entry 39

_Thursday 5 November_

I have literally started and restarted this journal entry five times now. Seriously, I've got a pile of crumpled-up lined paper very quickly accumulating on my floor. I guess I'm just having a hard time figuring out where to begin.

So I might as well start with this: I'm at home right now. Not Capsule-Corp-home, actual-home. As in, the house on Mount Pouzu.

I'd better back up. I didn't go to school this morning—Trunks and I both overslept. We'd been up talking pretty late, in part about our respective not-so-secret admirers. I filled him in on the situation with Ava (though I didn't mention her crush on Dia), he filled me in on Addo. Apparently Addo's okay being friends again—so long as Trunks cuts out all the damn teasing and flirting.

Which, frankly, sounds great to me.

Anyway, Trunks must've forgotten to set his alarm, because he didn't manage to wake up before nine. He shook me awake and tried to roll me out of bed so we could at least make third period; I growled at him and pulled the sheets back over my head. Trunks took the hint and let me go back to sleep, and he was long gone before I woke up again an hour later.

I didn't get out of bed right away. I just kind of stared at my ceiling, wondering if I even wanted to attempt getting to school for the second half of the day. But between wanting to avoid Ms. Shi's disaster of an art class—no, I still haven't figured out my project, yes, it's due on Monday, yes, I'll get to it eventually—and wanting to avoid Nao, well, laziness won out.

So I started my way downstairs. My stomach was growling, clearly annoyed with my having all but ignored it yesterday and ready to take out its revenge by cramping up and yelling at me. If I had to transcribe the noises it was making, it'd probably go something like: _GARGHLE WARRRR GRAWGWAG RUUURRR_

. . . You get the idea.

Anyway, I made a beeline for the kitchen and started rifling through the fridge. And then proceeded to startle up and bump my head against the top shelf of said fridge when a voice suddenly said, "Goten, aren't you supposed to be in school?"

I turned around to see a very, very amused Bulma standing behind me. And because I'm a moron, the first thing I said as I nursed my busted skull was, "What're _you_ doing here?"

"I _live _here." She laughed and handed me a full mug of tea. I took it and shut the refrigerator door behind me. Honestly, I'd just forgotten that she was scheduled to be back from her business trip. I didn't expect anyone to be in the compound other than Vegeta, and god knows _he_ usually keeps our contact to a minimum.

Bulma poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. "Then again, I guess you could say the same thing these days, huh?"

I joined her with my tea, my loudly-complaining stomach temporarily forgotten. "I guess." I started blowing at the steam on top of my mug. "Anyway, I overslept."

Bulma shrugged. "It happens." And I was reminded for the thousandth time just how different Bulma was from my own mother. Sure, my mom means well—I really do understand that—but would it kill her to mellow out some?

I must have zoned out for a minute, because next thing I knew, Bulma was clearing her throat to grab my attention again. "Goten," she said, slipping into her serious-voice—does she talk to her clients like that?—"it's not that I mind having you around, but don't you think you ought to head home? At least _try_ to work things out?"

I looked at her askance. "How much do you know?"

She shook her head. "Only as much as Trunks has told me. Problems at home?" She took a sip of her coffee. "With Goku?"

I nodded. "That's the gist of it." I sighed. "I know I can't stay here forever, but I don't really know what to _say_ to him. It's like, where do I even start?"

She laughed again—a little chuckle this time, not a big belly-laugh. "Well," she said, "I can't even begin to answer that question without more details about what's going on with you two." She smiled at me. "To be honest, Goten, your father is my oldest friend. I have a hard time imagining what he could have done to make you so uncomfortable with him all of a sudden."

"It's a long story."

"And I'm not asking." She set her cup down. "The point is, Goku might act like a blithering idiot most of the time—don't look at me like that, Goten, it's nothing I haven't said to his face—but he usually has his reasons for doing what he does. _Good_ reasons."

It's funny—even though she had no idea what had actually gone down between me and my dad, she basically repeated exactly what Gohan had told me.

I stared into my tea. I didn't look up as she downed the rest of her coffee, grabbed her briefcase, and headed out of the house for yet another meeting. Because I didn't really have anything else to add.

And I started to wonder—maybe she was right. Maybe she, and Gohan, and Vegeta all had a point. I mean if I can give _Ava _the benefit of the doubt, I could at least hear my dad out, right?

That's what I kept telling myself as I flew home. I didn't bother with a plane capsule; I just took my chances and hoped no one would see me on my way out of West City. I made sure to fly in through my window so my mom wouldn't give me a hard time about ditching school, climbed into my room, and plopped down on my bed.

It was only about five minutes before I heard a knock on my door. I knew it wasn't my mother—she doesn't knock on doors so much as _pound_. It was that same haphazard, almost ginger knuckle-rapping that my father always uses to keep from accidentally shattering the door.

I sat up in bed and started chewing on my lip—nervous habits die hard. After a minute of thinking, I called out, "Come in."

And in came my dad.

He cracked open the door and peeked in, looking surprised to see me. You know, despite the fact that I had told him all of two seconds ago to come in. He shut the door behind him, but stayed on the far side of the room, looking at me.

We stared at each other for a while before he finally smiled at me and broke the silence. "I like the hair."

I frowned. "How did you know I was in here?"

"I sensed your _ki_," he said with a shrug. "I was just out back. Wasn't far."

As he stood there, clearly as unsure of what to say as I was, I looked at him. I mean, _really_ looked at him, in a way I haven't done in ages. He was wearing that same orange gi, the one with the blue undershirt. It finally hit me how fucked up it was when my mom started dressing me that same way when she started training me. Like I was supposed to fill the hole that he left.

He gave me a lopsided half-grin. "Can I sit?"

I sighed. "Do what you want." _Like always._ I scooted over, and the bed creaked as he sat on the far corner of the mattress.

Another couple of minutes of awkward, heavy, uncomfortable silence. And then at the same time: "Goten—" "Dad—"

We both cut ourselves off. Then my dad said, "You first."

I looked down at my hands, trying to figure out where to begin. But, you know, when in doubt, start with the facts. "Gohan told me why you didn't to come back."

My dad nodded. "He told me afterward." He paused for a second, then said, "You know I didn't send him to talk to you right?"

"Yeah, he told me that too." I started wringing my hands, not sure how to proceed. "I guess . . . " I looked up at him. "I guess I understand why you stayed away."

It wasn't until he exhaled that I realized he'd been holding his breath.

"But I still have some questions," I said. "And . . . I can't talk to you unless you promise to be completely honest with me." I don't think I sounded as cool and collected as I wanted, but my dad was clearly as uncomfortable with this conversation as I was. When he nodded in agreement, I went on. "Like, why did you wait so long to use your one-day pass to come back down to Earth?"

He shrugged. "Well, it was a few years before I even found out that I _could_ do it. And...well, I only had one."

He broke eye contact with me. "The tournament seemed like a good chance to see everybody one more time."

"Everybody else got more than one day with you." I'd like to pretend that my voice didn't very obviously crack at the word "day."

He nodded. "I know."

"It's just . . . Kami, I was always _wondering_ about you. Everyone was always telling me how I was exactly like you." I know that must have sounded pathetic, but really, what was the point in acting tough there?

When he didn't respond, I said: "Everyone kept telling me how great you were. I just wanted to know for myself."

"Goten, I can't change the past."

I stood up from the bed and walked a few paces away from him. "You could have at least _talked_ to me. I know you could contact us."

He actually huffed at that. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, son, it's Daddy, calling from the Otherworld. Sorry we never met, what with me being dead and all.'"

Something inside my head snapped a little. "No!" I whirled on him. "No way, no joking out of you right now, okay!"

"I'm sorry. You're right." He shook his head. "Point is, I really don't know what I'd have said."

I turned away again. "I still wish you'd told me. That you knew about me."

"I should have." He stood up behind me and placed a hand on my right shoulder. "And for that much, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hid this from you."

He turned me around, forcing me to face him. I kept my eyes trained on the floor. "But I don't regret for one second that I looked in on your first steps. Or your first word. Or any of the thousand other moments I peeked in on."

I looked up at him. "Do you regret not letting the others wish you back?"

He paused for a second and pulled one hand away. The seconds seemed to drag on like hours as I waited for his answer. "I don't know. I guess Buu proves that the Earth is just a magnet for trouble whether I'm here or not."

I could hear the hesitation in his voice. ". . . But?"

Dad nodded. "But Gohan lost his childhood fighting _my_ enemies. I just didn't want to do the same thing to you."

I shrugged his other hand off my shoulder. "Don't talk to me about Gohan." And I finally understood what my brother was talking about earlier. "You didn't have to see him spend all that time blaming _himself_ for your death."

"Goten—"

"You're not the one who had to listen to him _cry_ himself to sleep for seven years!"

My words landed, though not in the way I'd intended. He cut me off, loudly. "You need to calm down and _listen_ to me!" I shrank back a bit, because, well, I can count the times I've heard my dad yell on one hand. That's usually Mom's department.

"Knowing what I know now," he continued, "yeah, maybe staying away was a mistake. But with what I knew then, with _everything _that had happened over the last five years, I was sure that the only way to keep you all safe was to keep my distance. I was not about to put you _and_ the world at risk just because I wanted to watch you grow up!"

I shoved my hands into my pocket. After about a minute, I responded. "You wanted to?" Kami, my voice was quieter than a mouse.

His answer was almost as quiet. "More than anything." And I sighed in relief—which is kind of pitiful, actually. That it mattered, so much, what his answer was.

Funny thing is, it wasn't even so much what he said as how he said it. He sounded as upset as I was.

And it hit me. He'd been looking in on me since I was born. I may not have known him, but he actually _missed_ me.

Just like that, I got it. I didn't feel better, exactly. But I understood.

I swallowed, hard, as he sat down on the edge of my bed again. "So," I started. "Uh, since we're being all honest with each other."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Yeah?"

"Um . . . you asked me once how I transformed."

He smiled again—a nervous little smile, like he couldn't help it. "You remember that?"

"I'm not a black-out drunk." I took a glance out my window, looking vaguely in the direction of West City. Where it had happened. "Did you really not see it?"

"No, I didn't." He shook his head. "When you transformed at the tournament, it was as much a shock to me as to anyone else."

"Do you still want to know?" After a minute of thinking, he nodded.

And so I told him.

Ten minutes later, I left the room. I left him speechless, sitting on my bed, gripping the bridge of his nose. Looking more shaken than I'd ever seen him. Looking as shaken as I felt.

It might sound petty, but as I write out this entry, I can't help but wonder if Gohan has ever seen him cry.


	40. Entry 40

_Saturday 7 November_

I know I just got home a couple of days ago, but I think I need to crash at Capsule Corp a while longer. Things at home are just too weird right now.

Mostly, at this point I'm regretting having told my dad about how I became a super saiyan. I mean, I know I had to tell him that story _eventually_, but I'm beginning to think it was a mistake to tell him when I did. I've never seen him so down. I mean, yeah, I guess I'm glad he isn't just brushing it off, but I really didn't mean to make him this upset.

He's not moping, exactly, just quieter. More reserved. And it's a little bit disturbing. And whenever we're in the same room, he's got this look on his face like he wants to say something, then always looks away suddenly when I catch him staring. My mom, meanwhile, has probably picked up on the weirdness, but hasn't said anything about it. (Why did she have to pick _now _to shut up?) So there's just this constant, heavy near-silence whenever I'm in the house.

Being home right now is, no exaggeration, the most awkward thing I've ever experienced. Which, when you consider what a complete freakshow my high school is, is really saying something.

Speaking of school, I did actually go back yesterday. I'd honestly forgotten how taxing the hour-long commute is; I've gotten used to sleeping in at Capsule Corp. Mr. Mori didn't comment on my being late, or about the fact that I'd missed class yesterday. He just let me sneak into one of the empty seats way, way in the back of the classroom and got back to lecturing. I think he's still afraid of Bulma coming in and tearing his head off.

I really need to get that woman a great big thank-you card. Maybe I can paint her something.

I caught up with Trunks in the hallway before literature. By which I mean he tracked me down and pulled me aside before I could make it into the classroom. He didn't bother with a hello—he opened with, "What the hell _happened_ yesterday?"

I shrugged. "Uh, I went home."

"Yeah, mom told me." Trunks folded his arms. "I tried calling you."

"Oh?" I frowned. "I didn't hear my phone ring."

"I know." He dug into his backpack and handed me my CC mobile phone. "I charged the battery for you."

"Uh, thanks." I shoved the phone into my back pocket. "I'll catch you at lunch or something, k?"

He frowned at me. "Aren't you going to clue me in what happened at your place yesterday?"

I shrugged. "I talked to my dad."

He rolled his eyes at me. "I figured as much." He ran his hand through his hair, looking exasperated at my refusal to give him any details in the hallway outside my lit class. "Look, I can't _make_ you talk to me, but I was worried, okay?"

I smiled at him. "Look, I promise I'll fill you in over the phone tonight. But I'm okay, really."

Trunks narrowed his eyes at me, giving me a look that pretty clearly communicated that, while he wasn't exactly satisfied with that answer, he was going to let it go for now. He pulled me in for a quick kiss, then backed up and said, "Don't call me until after six."

"Why not?"

"I'm helping Kato out with something this afternoon. Something _personal._" He tapped his left ring finger with his right hand, grabbed his backpack, and started making his way down to the other end of the school. I stared after him for a minute before taking my seat inside my lit class, wondering what the hell he could have meant.

It wasn't until Dia walked into the classroom that I got it.

My jaw dropped. "Holy shit."

Dia raised one pierced eyebrow up at me and pushed her now-green bangs out of her eyes. "Nice to see you too, Goten."

I shook my head quickly looked away from her. "Uh. Hi. Um, nevermind." I literally bit down on my lip through the rest of class.

Guess it's easy to forget that other people have lives when you're so caught up in your own drama.

Anyway, the rest of my classes were pretty uneventful. I mean, art was sort of stressful—because, well, that big scary art project? The one I've been bitching about all month? Turns out, it's due this Monday. And I haven't even started it yet. Yeah, this weekend is gonna be fun.

Flash forward about an hour. I ended up paired with Ava for chem class, which actually went better than I expected it to be, considering it's the first time we've spoken since we talked things over on Wednesday. Naturally, we managed to fuck up our pipetting and ruin our whole experiment, but hey, at least she didn't make a pass at me.

So that was yesterday. Ava and I are something like friends, I am probably going to flunk art—_art_ of all things!—and Kato is apparently planning on proposing to Dia. Even though they're, you know, still in high school. Like I promised, I called Trunks and filled him in on everything that's gone down between me and my father; he heard me out before telling me ought to come back to Capsule Corp, at least until I'm done with this disaster of an art project. I think I'm going to take him up on the offer; I just can't concentrate at home.

Like I said, this is gonna be a fun weekend.

Oh, and there is one other thing.

I told Nao. Everything.

Er, better flash back to yesterday again. I took a page out of Trunks' playbook and camped out by Nao's locker the second I got out of gym class. I plopped down in front of his locker, totally blocking his access. Nao was, as you can imagine, less than pleased when he saw me.

He straightened up his posture (something which looks very, very strange on him), shoved his hands into his pockets, and glared at me. "The hell do you want, Goten?"

I stood up and put my hands up in front of me. "Just hear me out." When he glowered at me, I blurted out, "I'm sorry about being such a little shit lately."

He slumped again. "I just don't get _why_, man. Why have you been shutting me out?"

I dropped my arms to my sides. "Look, it's complicated. Kind of a long story."

He pinched the bridge of his nose—I have to wonder, did he pick up that habit from me?—and sighed. "Just let me get my books. We can go back to my place and talk, okay?" So I nodded, moved out of his way, and waited for him to get his shit together before we walked out of the school.

We made our way over to Nao's car, this old, run-down little sedan that's exactly the same shade of green at those t-shirts he always wears. And as we pulled out of the parking lot, I started talking.

I swear, I wasn't planning on telling him _everything._ In retrospect, I probably should have planned out what, exactly, I was going to tell him BEFORE I started blabbing. But then I blurted out how my dad stayed dead when I was a kid—"Wait, what the fuck?"—and about how there were these things called Dragonballs—"What the _hell_ is a dragon ball?"—and about how they were made by namekians—"Name-wha now?"—and how they were aliens and how, by the way, I wasn't exactly totally human either.

I don't think I realized how much I actually _needed_ to talk about it all until right then.

He pulled his key out of the ignition after we pulled into his driveway. "Goten, if you don't want to tell me what's going on at your house, don't tell me. You don't have to make up some crazy sci-fi story."

I looked at him for a good minute, wondering how the hell I could explain all this, before I just decided to show him. So I held my left hand out in front of him, took a deep breath, and told him to watch.

He tapped one hand against the steering wheel. "What am I watching for, Goten?"

"Just wait. And promise you won't freak out."

"What am I supposed to not freak out ab—" He cut himself off as I gathered a small _ki_ orb in my hand.

He quickly turned away from me and started staring out of the front windshield.

"Nao? You okay?"

He didn't look back at me. "Please tell me that you've got some kind of weird flashlight tucked up your sleeve. For the love of god, tell me this is an elaborate trick."

I laughed. "Sorry to say it isn't."

I stepped out of the car and gestured to him to do the same. He did. After looking around and making absolutely sure that no one was hanging out on the street, I slipped under the chassis of his car and, with minimal effort, pushed up. I held the car up for a good ten, fifteen seconds before gently setting it down

I dusted myself off as I stood up. Nao didn't even try to contain the look of complete, utter shock on his face.

"Hey," I said with what I'd like to think was a comforting smile, "it's still me. Still Goten. Really." When he didn't respond, I waved one hand in front of his face. "Earth to Nao, you okay?"

He blinked and shook his head rapidly, like he was trying to shake away the image of me bench-pressing his car. "Holy fuck."

Nao's been swearing a lot more lately. Wonder if that's my fault.

I put one hand on his shoulder, as much to reassure myself as to reassure him. "You okay?"

"Uh. Um." He kept opening and shutting his jaw, looking for all the world like a landed fish. "Okay, uh, I knew you did martial arts and all...but this?" He sat down on the stoop in front of his house, his eyes impossibly wide. "I mean. Shit." He looked back at me when I sat down next to him. "How strong _are_ you?"

I shrugged, trying to figure out how best to phrase it. "I'm . . . kind of at less than a hundredth my maximum strength right now." I grinned at him nervously. "Got any spare fifty-ton weights lying around?"

Needless to say, Nao was not amused.

So I sighed, and even though I felt lightheaded and my stomach was knotted up to all hell, I talked. And talked. About being half-alien. About how Trunks is the same. About dying and coming back to life. About how _he'd_ died and come back to life after my father and Vegeta defeated Buu, but we'd wished away everyone's memories of the event six months later. And how my father had been dead the first seven years of my life.

We sat in silence for a few minutes after I was done. I looked back at him and said, my voice shakier than I'd like to admit: "Please don't tell anyone."

He startled back and stared at me. "Don't _tell anyone?_" He shook his head in a gesture of complete disbelief. "Goten, who would believe me?" And then he did something I didn't think was possible right then—he made me _laugh._ "Hey, Principal Sen, just so you know, two of your students aren't human. So, yanno, if anyone threatens to shoot up the school, you can always send Trunks and Goten in to take care of them."

I stared at him for a second before bursting out laughing. He didn't join in, but when I looked back up at him, he was half-smiling. "To be fair," I started up again, "humans are actually capable of a lot more than they think. Videl's as human as they come, and she can fly."

"I thought that I saw her flying on a news report when I was kid. I just figured it was a trick, you know, pulleys and ropes."

"Now you're starting to sound like Mr. Satan."

"No need to get insulting, Goten." I couldn't help laughing again.

After I'd calmed down a bit, I leaned back against his stoop and looked back towards his car. "So you're really not freaked out?"

He frowned and said, after a moment's pause, "I'm not actually sure." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It's possible that I'm _so_ freaked out it hasn't settled in yet." And after another minute: "It's always seemed like you're hiding something. I just didn't know what. Sure as hell didn't expect this."

He stood up from the stoop and turned to face me, hands in his pockets again. "But I guess I figure, hey, if you were the scary, evil type of alien, you probably would have killed us all already. Right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I've been tempted."

He frowned at me again, looking like he wanted to say something else. I finally got tired of waiting and asked what was wrong.

"Well, to be honest, I'm a little disappointed." When I asked why, he said, "I kinda always thought aliens would have green skin and pointy ears."

I laughed again. "Remind me to introduce you to Piccolo one of these days."

So that's how it all went down. Nao shot me a text message this morning saying, I kid you not, "did we srsly talk yesterday? or did i just dream it all?" I texted back, "i lifted ur car". At which point he responded , "k. cool. commencing freakout in 5. plz talk 2 me on monday."

All things considered, I'd say he's handling this fairly well.

At least that much is going well. I think, anyway. I left Nao's place so fucking relieved, only to come home to this awkward mess. I've been back at Mount Paozu (and completely unable to get any studying done) since yesterday afternoon. So I've been hiding out in my room, staring at the ceiling and generally avoiding my family.

Yeah, right now, getting back to Capsule Corp really does seem like my best option. I feel bad bailing after being home for just two days—less, if you include the time I spent at school and at Nao's place—but I just can't get through my schoolwork here. And, I dunno, maybe my dad could use the space too.

Then again, I do have to wonder if Capsule Corp is going to be any less distracting. Between Bulma and Vegeta's constant fighting/fucking, Bra's constant whining, and Trunks' constant attempts to get me to abandon my schoolwork and go mess around with him, CC kind of makes for a craptastic study environment. Not to mention the incessant squawking of that goddamn pigeon, the one that apparently has free rein of the whole compound now.

As a side note, I really don't get Lord Featherton. Even when he's just trying to find someone to, I dunno, stroke those feathers over the nape of his neck to clean out his cage, he seems to fly everywhere with such _drive_. A sense of urgency, almost. Hell, just lazing about the house, flying in no particular direction, he always looks like he's going somewhere or about to do something of the utmost importance.

I guess there are worse things than having a sense of purpose. Even if you _are_ just a pigeon.

...holy shit. I think I just came up with a concept for my art project.


	41. Entry 41

_Saturday 21 November_

It might look like I've been neglecting my journal—horrible sin for an aspiring journalist, I know. I swear it's not that I've been lazy. I've tried, really. But honestly, for the past couple of weeks, whenever I've picked up my pen, I've gotten crippling writers block.

Ok, that isn't quite true. If you look at the margins, you can see tons of ripped pages. I guess since my last entry, everything I wrote down seemed so _inadequate_. I haven't been able to put words to the thoughts, to all this constant tension. So I'd write half an entry, give up, and rip out the papers.

Hard to believe it's been less than two months since I started writing in this thing. Last two weeks aside, writing here every day—or almost every day—has become so routine for me. Habits that ingrained usually take a bit longer to develop, you know?

Guess my brother understands me a little better than I've given him credit for.

Might as well recap. The last couple of weeks have been pretty busy. Ava's pretty much comfortable speaking to me again—and if you told me last month that I'd be _relieved_ by that fact, I'd have laughed in your face. It helps that she's stopped flirting with me. At this point, the biggest problem with being kinda-sorta friends with her is that we're always paired up together in chemistry now. Considering that I'm a klutz and she's, frankly, kind of a ditz, we'll be lucky just to pass.

Whatever. Science isn't my thing, anyway. I'm more than happy to leave that stuff to Trunks and Gohan.

What's even weirder than me and Ava getting along is the fact that she and _Addo_ have started hanging out. And no, they aren't bonding over their respective unrequited crushes. Near as I can tell, they spend 90% of the time trading makeup tips. She's been gushing to me about this super-waterproof mascara he recommended to her; she likes to get dolled up before track meets. I'm trying to figure out which one of them is the bigger girl.

While we're on the topic of one-sided romance, turns out that Ava's decided _not_ to tell Dia. She said that she really didn't want to make things more complicated than they already were. I promised to keep my mouth shut—I haven't even told Trunks. Considering that Trunks helped Kato finally decide on the right engagement ring for Dia last week (and I have never seen a diamond so enormous), it's probably better that no one find out about Ava's little crush.

I still think that seventeen is way too young to get engaged, even if you probably won't be setting a date for a couple of years. Apparently this puts me in the minority.

That being said, not everything's changed over the last few weeks. Trunks is still a mildly psychotic mad scientist, though he's been better about lab safety as of late. He also still insists that he's the leader of the pigeons—or he will be once they fly back up north in the spring. Lord Featherton, meanwhile, is still way, way smarter than any pigeon should rightfully be. Bulma and Vegeta are still disgustingly horny middle-aged freaks. I still suck at math. Ms. Shi still smells like an incense-laden cinnamon bun stand. Mr. Mori still can't teach to save his life. Mr. Sen is still completely oblivious to the goings-on of West City High (and to who keeps placing pudding cups in his desk drawers). And Nao is still the single sanest person I know.

Speaking of Nao, I have to say, being able to talk with someone other than my boyfriend is a relief. Don't get me wrong—Trunks has been on his best behavior, and he's been nothing if not reliable lately. But the fact remains that he _is_ my boyfriend in addition to being my best friend, which can complicate things. Having someone like Nao, someone calm and objective to talk to without having to constantly worry if I'm going to slip up and give myself away, it's really nice.

Nao's adjusted remarkably well to the whole me-being-a-superpowered-alien thing. And Trunks has adjusted remarkably well to having one of our classmates know our little secret. That being said, while Trunks seems to trust Nao enough, it's becoming increasingly apparent that he doesn't particularly _like _Nao. I guess he's just a little too asocial for Trunks' tastes.

To be fair, the feeling's definitely mutual. Nao actually had some concerns when he found out that Trunks and I were staying together—understandable, considering how much I bitch about the guy—but he just said that I needed to do what made me happy.

He also said something about how I seemed to be happiest when I was miserable. Which doesn't seem fair to me. I'm not a masochist; I just have very poor judgment.

Besides, I think Keimin-the-hot-drummer would be sorely disappointed if Trunks and I broke up. Seeing as Trunks finally talked me into calling him. He said Trunks' suggestion of a three-way was "hands down the hottest thing I've ever heard."

I'm surrounded by perverts.

Very, _very_ attractive perverts.

So that's the situation with school. As for home, well, I've been staying at Capsule Corp most nights, but I have been heading home a couple of days a week. Er, kind of. More often than not, when I'm up at Mount Paozu, I've ended up crashing at Gohan's place. Which actually works out pretty well for all of us; Gohan and Videl are more than happy to take advantage of the free babysitting services when they need some alone time. And I hate to admit it, but I think I'm starting to see an upswing in my calculus grades.

I do at least talk to my parents every day on the phone. And things are starting to get back to normal between me and my dad. Kind of normal? Less awkward, anyway. We've been talking a fair amount, and we're starting to train again on the days I'm home. No better way to work through our issues than kicking the crap out of each other, I guess.

I know it's never going to be quite the same as it was before, but maybe it isn't supposed to be. For one, I think I'm gonna keep my hair like this. Maybe even crop it shorter. Who really wants to look _exactly _like their dad anyway? I'm already stuck with the man's face—I might as well make _something_ my own.

Second, and more importantly, I'm starting to realize that perhaps the whole hero-worship thing wasn't very healthy. For either of us. My dad isn't perfect. He isn't a god, and he isn't a monster. Just because he's a hero—by anyone's standards—doesn't mean he doesn't have his flaws.

It's kind of easy to forget that when your dad is the literal savior of the universe.

It's amazing how just _talking_ can make everything seem so much more manageable. I've spilled to him about how screwed up his death left our family. He's admitted that, if he could go back and make those choices again, he probably would have chosen differently. But all that doesn't change the fact that, for better or worse, he's really been there for me the last nine years.

I'm not angry with him anymore. I'm just still working on trusting him again. That's progress, I suppose.

I guess it's pretty easy to lose perspective sometimes. I mean, yeah, my home life is a little twisted up right now. But the fact is that my life could be a lot worse.

On a somewhat related note, I finally decided what to do for my art project. Of course, I ended up doing the whole damn thing the weekend before it was due. Which sucked, since it was due the Monday after the _mother_ of all rough weeks.

But it got done. And it was pretty clever, if I do say so myself. I've got Trunks' crazy pet pigeon to thank for the idea, too. See, here's the concept—birds are always moving back and forth, right? Like, they're always moving north in the summer, south for the winter, but beyond that, a wild bird pretty much just wanders. A pigeon might always be moving, but it's fairly directionless overall.

So when I got to Capsule Corp on Saturday, I got to work. I snapped some pictures of Lord Featherton for reference—and that strange little bird was more than happy to pose and model for me—looked up a few diagrams online, and made a three-foot-wide wire base in the form of a male pigeon. I did the feathers with carefully folded-up sheets of paper—colored with various shades of charcoal, of course—attached to the wire base.

But I didn't use glue or any sort of adhesive for the feathers, as you might with a paper-maché sculpture. It was pretty critical to the concept of my project that you actually be able to _remove _the sheets of paper, unfold them, read them, then fold them back up and replace them on the basic structure. So I used paper-maché just for the pigeons head; the rest of the feathers were attached to the head using hidden paper fasteners. The really cool part was the fact that I was able to stack the sheets of paper so they fanned out from the head, in the same way that real feathers stack on a live bird.

Those paper feathers? Were made from the pages of my journal.

Well, sort of. My original idea was to rip the pages right out of this journal, but Trunks pointed out that I'd probably regret it if I went and destroyed the actual diary. So instead, we just used photocopies of the original journal pages as the base for the feathers. The basic idea was that the journal pages were the places I'm "coming from"—my experiences as filtered through my own eyes. The bird represents that, even though I know I'm constantly moving, I'm not sure where it is I'm actually _going._

Damn, that sounds cheesy when I write it out.

Anyway, since you could pull individual journal entries and read them, I had to edit a lot of what I've written pretty heavily. I had to redact (another brilliant word, courtesy of Bulma and her dodgy tax-filing practices) any references to the Dragonballs, super-strength, or being half-alien. Or, you know, dying and coming back to life. That being said, I think I managed to capture the essence of my crazy-ass, damn-near-farcical life.

Trunks was up all night with me on Sunday, doing menial tasks and generally making sure my project got done on time. You know, getting me extra paper and pens, making photocopies, running out to a 24-hour convenience store when I ran out of fasteners, that kind of thing. When I mentioned that I wanted to add something tactile to the project, just to add a little texture to the feathers, Trunks handed me a Ziploc bag filled with my hair clippings. Apparently he saved them.

My boyfriend is so fucking weird.

I love it.

Anyway, when Trunks saw the finished project, he didn't really have anything constructive to add. He did tell me, after looking through some of the journal pages that I'd used for the project, that I should probably stop anthropomorphizing my journal. I asked what the hell anthropomorphizing is; he said basically treating it like it's a conscious person. I told him it was the only way I could get any halfway rational conversation.

For once, he didn't have a witty response. He did, however, read my description of the cough syrup we keep around my house, and asked how I would have any idea what a combination of rancid cherries and gasoline would taste like.

I told him he didn't want to know.

Anyway, I got an 85% on the project. For all my procrastination, for all my bitching about the assignment prompt—and I still think "The places we come from, the places we're going" is the stupidest fucking prompt ever conceived—I'd say I did alright. Ms. Shi told me in her critique, more or less, that she wanted to dock my grade for "thematic triteness", but bumped it up a few points for sincerity and "aesthetic ingenuity." Considering how harshly she scored everyone's projects, I'm pretty happy with my grade. I actually ended up in the top half of the class.

In fact, there was only one 100 in the entire class. It went to the kid who drew himself . . . coming out of the birth canal. And going down on his girlfriend. I wish I could say I was making this up. Ms. Shi said it was a "brilliant and graphic exercise in literalization."

Trunks can never, _ever_ find out about this.


End file.
